::* 


I IV  OF 

:  A 

CRUZ 


LITTLE  PILGRIMAGES 

Among  the  Men  Who  Have  Written 
FAMOUS  BOOKS 

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GEORGE    ADE. 


LITTLE 
PILGRIMAGES 

Among  the  Men  Who  Have  Written 
FAMOUS  BOOKS 

SECOND   SERIES 

by 
E.    F.    HARKINS 

Illustrated 


BOSTON 

L.    C.    PAGE    &   COMPANY 

MDCCCCIII 


Copyright,  1903,  by 
L.  C.  Page  Sf  Company  (Incorporated) 

All  rights  reserved 


Published  September,  1903 


Colonial 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  &  Co. 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS 


Page 

George  Ade  11 

Irving  Bacheller  25 

John  D.  Barry  43 

Arlo  Bates  61 

Cyrus  Townsend  Brady  79 

Robert  William  Chambers  97 

Thomas  Dixon,  Jr.  113 

Finley  Peter  Dunne  133 

George  Gary  Eggleston  147 

Elliott  Flower  165 

John  Fox,  Jr.  185 

Henry  Harknd  201 

Arthur  Sherburne  Hardy  219 

Jack  London  235 

George  Horace  Lorimer  253 

Charles  Major  269 

George  Barr  McCutcheon  287 

F.  Hopkinson  Smith  305 

Booth  Tarkington  323 

Owen  Wister  341 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Page 

George  Ade  Frontispiece 

Irving  Bacheller  25 

John  D.  Barry  43 

Arlo  Bates  61 

Cyrus  Townsend  Brady  79 

Eobert  William  Chambers  97 

Thomas  Dixon,  Jr.  113 

Finley  Peter  Dunne  133 

George  Gary  Eggleston  147 

Elliott  Flower  165 

John  Fox,  Jr.  185 

Henry  Harland  201 

Arthur  Sherburne  Hardy  219 

Jack  London  235 

George  Horace  Lorimer  253 

Charles  Major  269 

George  Barr  McCutcheon  287 

F.  Hopkinson  Smith  305 

Booth  Tarkington  323 

Owen  Wister  341 


GEOEGE    ADE 


/N  Book  VII.  of  the  fourth  part  of 
"  Les  Miserables,"  Victor  Hugo  calls 
slang  the  language  of  misery.  We 
doubt  that  George  Ade  would  accept  this 
definition.  The  slang  which  Mr.  Ade 
writes  is  the  language  of  informality. 
Perhaps  some  would  define  it  as  the  lan- 
guage of  democracy.  It  is  an  instinctive 
rebellion  against  Goold  Brown  and  Shake;- 
speare  and  the  tiresome  poets  whose  lines 
seem  to  be  especially  beloved  of  the  com- 
mon school  educators.  It  is  the  street 
opposed  to  the  academy.  In  some  cases 
it  is  the  wild  growth  of  an  uncultivated 
mind ;  and  in  other  cases  it  shows  a  mind 
indulging  in  comfortable  negligence.  It 
may  be  natural  —  it  may  be  the  best  a 

11 


LITTLE    PILGBIMAGES 

person  can  do ;  and  it  may  be  the  affecta- 
tion resulting  from  an  intellectual  relapse. 
In  spoken  form  it  often  presents  many 
happy  expressions,  but  in  written  form  it 
is  generally  the  merchandise  of  stupid 
clowns.  Mr.  Ade  is  a  master  of  slang. 
He  makes  of  it  something  more  than  mere 
light  entertainment. 

Mr.  Ade,  it  might  be  said,  humanizes 
slang  —  vitalizes  it  —  gives  it  suggestions 
of  humour  and  of  pathos  —  uses  certain 
words  to  represent  certain  ranks  of  the 
human  family.  He  demonstrates  that 
slang  is  the  language  of  the  majority,  for 
by  means  of  slang  he  instantly  puts  aver- 
age minds  —  and  by  that  we  mean  minds 
with  a  liking  for  holidays  and  strolls  along 
with  the  crowd  —  in  sympathy  with  his 
characters.  It  is  at  once  more  amusing 
and  more  reasonable  to  point  a  moral  by 
means  of  slang  than  by  means  of  solemp 
12 


GEOEGE    ADE 


language  drawn  from  the  mouths  of 
beasts  and  of  birds.  Yet,  of  course,  no 
one  would  think  of  substituting  Ade  for 
^Esop  in  the  kindergarten.  Slang,  like 
knowledge,  is  not  to  be  inculcated.  It  is 
something  that  grows  with  the  years.  Per- 
sonally we  enjoy  one  of  the  chapters  in 
"Doc'  Home"  — "The  Loss  of  '  The 
Little  Lady '  "  it  is  called  —  more  than 
any  one  of  the  modern  fables;  but  such 
enjoyment  is  a  matter  of  individual  taste. 
The  only  time  Mr.  Ade  need  blush  is  when 
he  hears  some  of  the  lyrics  in  one  of  his 
musical  comedies. 

The  subject  of  this  sketch  was  born 
in  Kentland,  Indiana,  February  9,  1866; 
and  it  is  worth  noting  that  his  father  was 
an  English  immigrant  engaged  in  the 
banking  business.  George  was  graduated 
from  Purdue  University,  Lafayette,  In- 
diana, in  1887.  Immediately  afterward 

13 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

he  found  a  place  as  reporter  on  the  Lafay- 
ette Morning  News,  a  paper  which  had 
been  started  to  boom  General  Harrison 
for  the  Presidency.  But  the  paper  died 
before  achieving  its  purpose,  and  the 
young  man  went  to  work  for  an  evening 
paper  in  the  same  town.  "  The  salary/' 
he  has  said,  "was  so  small  that  I  don't 
care  to  mention  it.  It  was  paid  partly 
in  meal-tickets  on  a  cheap  restaurant 
which  was  a  heavy  advertiser."  After  a 
few  months  of  this  hard  plowing  he  got 
employment  with  a  patent  medicine  firm. 
One  of  the  articles  he  sold  was  a  cure 
for  the  tobacco  habit.  The  preparation 
of  the  Lafayette  City  Directory  was  also 
part  of  the  work  which  Ade  did  for  this 
firm. 

"  In  1890  "  —  to  refer  again  to  his  own 
few  words  —  "  having  risen  to  a  weekly 
income  of  fifteen  dollars,   I  lit  out  for 
14 


GEOEGE    ADE 


Chicago,  where  I  got  a  job  on  the  Morn- 
ing News,  later  the  Record,  as  a  reporter. 
The  following  year  I  had  pretty  good  as- 
signments, and  in  1893  I  did  special 
World's  Fair  stories.  When  the  fair 
closed  up  I  became  the  father  of  a  depart- 
ment in  the  paper  called  '  Stories  of  the 
Street.7  I  had  to  fill  two  columns  every 
day,  which,  with  a  cut  or  two,  meant  from 
twelve  hundred  to  two  thousand  words. 
My  stuff  was  next  to  Eugene  Field's 
'  Sharps  and  Flats.'  When  Field  died  I 
got  his  desk.  I  used  to  get  desperate  for 
ideas  sometimes.  One  lucky  day  I  wrote 
a  story  on  a  church  entertainment,  in 
which  Artie  was  the  spokesman.  That 
was  in  1895.  I  heard  from  that  story  so 
much  that  Artie  was  given  a  show  once  a 
week.  In  1898  I  ran  up  against  the  fable 
of  the  old  serio-comic  form.  I  had  learned 
from  writing  my  department  that  all  peo- 

15 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

pie,  and  especially  women,  are  more  or  less 
fond  of  parlour  slang.  In  cold  blood  I 
began  writing  the  fables  to  make  my  de- 
partment go,  but  I  had  no  idea  that  those 
fantastic  things  would  catch  on  as  they 
have.  My  first  one  was  entitled  '  The 
Blond  Girl  Who  Married  a  Bucket-Shop 
Man.'  Soon  other  papers  asked  permission 
to  copy  the  fables,  and  then  to  share  them 
with  the  Record,  and  by  and  by  a  publisher 
collected  them  and  made  up  a  copyrighted 
book.  There  you  have  the  whole  thing 
in  a  nutshell." 

The  fables  are  now  syndicated  among  a 
number  of  Sunday  papers  —  one  paper  in 
each  of  a  dozen  large  cities.  At  the  end 
of  a  certain  period  Mr.  Ade's  publisher, 
E.  H.  Eussell,  of  JSTew  York  (Herbert  S. 
Stone,  of  Chicago,  was  his  first  publisher), 
gathers  them,  adds  a  few  new  ones,  and 
issues  them  in  book  form.  They  are  al- 
16 


GEORGE     ADE 


ways  sure  of  a  profitable  sale.  Mr.  Stone 
is  to  be  credited  with  the  discovery  of  the 
excellence  of  Artie  Blanchard,  and,  conse- 
quently, with  the  publication  of  "  Artie/' 
"  Pink  Marsh,"  "  Doc'  Home,"  "  Fables 
in  Slang,"  and  "  More  Fables,"  the  au- 
thor's first  books.  Mr.  Russell  is  the  pub- 
lisher of  his  latest  book,  "  People  You 
Know."  There  is  more  than  slang  in  Mr. 
Ade's  books ;  there  is  keen  satire  and  there 
is  sound  philosophy.  As  one  critic  re- 
marked of  "Fables  in  Slang":  "So 
vividly  has  Mr.  Ade  portrayed  human 
nature  that  in  reading  these  fables  you 
see  pictures  of  many  people  you  know, 
and  frequently  a  dim  reflection  of  your- 
self; but,  as  is  natural,  your  own  re- 
flection is  only  suggested,  while  other  pic- 
tures stand  out  in  bold  relief." 

"  The  hardest  part  of  the  fable  busi- 
ness,"  says  Mr.   Ade,   "is  the  grubbing 

17 


LITTLE     PILGEIMAGES 

round  for  ideas.  It's  enough  to  drive  a 
man  to  drink  Jx)  think  up  something  new. 
Sometimes  I  don't  begin  on  the  fable  till 
twenty-four  hours  before  the  copy  is  due." 
Yet  he  has  been  credited  with  this  recipe 
for  a  modern  fable :  "  Take  one  portion 
of  Homely  Truth,  one  portion  of  Story,  a 
pinch  of  Satire,  and  a  teacupful  of  Capital 
Letters,  spice  with  Up-to-date  Slang,  if 
you  can  get  it  fresh;  garnish  with  wood- 
cut Drawings  and  serve  hot." 

In  the  last  few  years  Mr.  Ade  has  given 
part  of  his  time  to  musical  comedy.  The 
words  of  "  The  Sultan  of  Sulu  "  and  of 
"  Peggy  from  Paris  "  are  his  work.  Ex- 
cursions to  Europe  and  to  the  Philippines 
have  helped  him  to  introduce  what  is 
known  as  local  colour  into  the  two  bur- 
lesques. 

He  has  been  described  as  a  "man  of 
the  most  retiring  nature,  undervaluing  his 
18 


GEOKGE    ADE 


work  and  underestimating  his  ability,"  as 
a  man  who  "  has  been  brought  into  prom- 
inence almost  like  an  unwilling  school- 
boy, being  urged  and  encouraged  and  al- 
most pushed  to  make  his  first  bow  before 
an  audience.  It  would  seem  from  per- 
sonal knowledge  of  his  nature  that  if  he 
could  possibly  place  the  credit  of  his  work 
on  another  person  he  would  feel  happier 
and  more  contented  seeing  the  success  of 
the  other  man  than  he  is  now  while  re- 
ceiving congratulations  from  far  and  near 
on  his  own  success."  In  acknowledging  a 
few  words  of  praise  sent  to  him  by  a 
friend,  he  wrote:  "  I  am  just  as  proud  and 
happy  as  if  I  deserved  all  that  I  get." 

In  conclusion  we  shall  quote,  by  per- 
mission of  H.  S.  Stone  &  Co.,  owners  of 
the  copyright,  "  The  Fable  of  the  Corpora- 
tion and  the  Mislaid  Ambition,"  1  which 

i 

i  Copyright,  1900,  by  H.  S.  Stone  &  Co. 

19 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

is  a  truer  reflection  of  human  nature  than 
all  the  words  that  have  been,  or,  perhaps, 
that  ever  will  be,  penned  by  ironmasters 
and  by  socialists: 

"  One  of  the  Most  Promising  Boys  in 
a  Graded  School  had  a  Burning  Ambition 
to  be  a  Congressman.  He  loved  Politics 
and  Oratory.  When  there  was  a  Rally  in 
the  Town  he  would  carry  a  Torch  and 
listen  to  the  Spellbinder  with  his  Mouth 
wide  open. 

"  The  Boy  wanted  to  grow  up  and  wear 
a  Black  String  Tie  and  a  Bill  Cody  Hat 
and  walk  stiff-legged,  with  his  vest  un- 
buttoned at  the  Top,  and  be  Distinguished. 

"  On  Friday  Afternoons  he  would  go  to 
School  with  his  Face  scrubbed  to  a  shiny 
pink  and  his  Hair  reached  up  on  one  side ; 
he  would  recite  the  Speeches  of  Patrick 
Henry  and  Daniel  Webster  and  make 
Gestures. 
20 


GEOKGE     ADE 


"  When  he  Graduated  from  the  High 
School  he  delivered  an  Oration  on  *  The 
Duty  of  the  Hour/  calling  on  all  young 
Patriots  to  leap  into  the  Arena  and  with 
the  Shield  of  Virtue  quench  the  rising 
Flood  of  Corruption.  He  said  that  the 
curse  of  Our  Times  was  the  Greed  for 
Wealth,  and  he  pleaded  for  Unselfish 
Patriotism  among  those  in  High  Places. 

"  He  boarded  at  Home  awhile  without 
seeing  a  chance  to  jump  into  the  Arena, 
and  finally  his  father  worked  a  Pull  and 
got  him  a  Job  with  a  Steel  Company.  He 
proved  to  be  a  Handy  Young  Man,  and 
the  Manager  sent  him  out  with  Contracts. 
He  stopped  roaching  his  Hair;  and  he 
didn't  give  the  Arena  of  Politics  any  se- 
rious Consideration  except  when  the  Tariff 
on  Steel  was  in  Danger. 

"  In  a  little  while  he  owned  a  few 
Shares,  and  after  that  he  became  a  Di- 

21 


LITTLE     PILGKIMAGES 

rector.  He  joined  several  Clubs  and 
began  to  enjoy  his  Food.  He  drank  a 
Small  Bottle  with  his  Luncheon  each  Day, 
and  he  couldn't  talk  Business  unless  he 
held  a  Scotch  High  Ball  in  his  right 
Hand. 

"  With  the  return  of  Prosperity  and  the 
Formation  of  the  Trusts  and  the  Whoop  in 
all  Stocks  he  made  so  much  Money  that  he 
was  afraid  to  tell  the  Amount. 

"  His  Girth  increased  —  he  became 
puffy  under  the  Eyes  —  you  could  see  the 
little  blue  Veins  in  his  Nose. 

"  He  kept  his  name  out  of  the  Papers 
as  much  as  possible  and  he  never  gave 
Congress  a  Thought  except  when  he  talked 
to  his  Lawyer  of  the  probable  Manner  in 
which  they  would  evade  any  Legislation 
against  Trusts.  He  took  two  Turkish 
Baths  every  week  and  wore  Silk  Under- 
wear. When  an  Eminent  Politician  would 
22 


GEOKGE    ADE 


come  to  his  Office  to  shake  him  down  he 
would  send  out  word  by  the  Boy  in  But- 
tons that  he  had  gone  to  Europe.  That's 
what  he  thought  of  Politics. 

"  One  day,  rummaging  in  a  lower 
Drawer  in  his  Library,  looking  for  a  box 
of  Poker  Chips,  he  came  upon  a  roll  of 
Manuscript  and  wondered  what  it  was.  He 
opened  it  and  read  how  it  was  the  Duty 
of  all  True  Americans  to  hop  into  the 
Arena  and  struggle  unselfishly  for  the 
General  Good.  It  came  to  him  in  a  flash 
—  this  was  his  High  School  Oration ! 

"  Then  he  suddenly  remembered  that 
for  several  Years  of  his  life  his  consum- 
ing Ambition  had  been  to  go  to  Congress ! 

"  With  a  demoniacal  Shriek  he  threw 
himself  at  full  length  on  a  Leather  Couch 
and  began  to  laugh. 

"  He  rolled  off  the  Sofa  and  tossed  about 
on  a  $1,200  rug  in  a  Paroxysm  of  Merri- 
ment. 23 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

"  His  man  came  into  the  Library  and 
found  the  Master  in  Convulsions.  The 
poor  Trust  Magnate  was  purple  in  the 
Face. 

"They  sent  for  a  Great  Specialist,  who 
said  that  his  Dear  Friend  had  ruptured 
one  of  the  smaller  Arteries  and  also  nar- 
rowly escaped  Death  by  Apoplexy. 

"  He  advised  rest  and  quiet  and  the 
avoidance  of  any  Great  Shock. 

"  So  they  took  the  High  School  Oration 
and  put  it  on  Ice,  and  the  Magnate  slowly 
recovered  and  returned  to  his  nine-course 
Dinners. 

"  Moral:  Of  all  Sad  Words  of  Tongue 
or  Pen,  the  Saddest  are  these,  '  It  might 
Have  Been.' " 

Mr.  Ade  is  unmarried,  and  he  divides 
his  time  and  residence  between  Chicago 
and  New  York. 


24 


IRVING    BACHELLER. 


IRVING    BACHELLER 


/N"  his  youth  Irving  Bacheller  played 
many  parts.  He  has  said  himself 
that  after  leaving  home  for  the  first 
time,  at  the  age  of  thirteen,  he  was,  for  a 
few  years,  "  a  telegraph  operator,  a  post- 
office  clerk,  a  salesman,  a  scrubwoman,  a 
bookkeeper,  and  a  delivery  wagon."  But 
at  last  he  seems  to  have  found  the  part 
for  which  he  is  particularly  well  fitted. 
The  stars  of  the  literary  world  and  of  the 
theatrical  world  are  much  alike;  they  all 
must  have  climbed  long  and  hard  and 
passed  through  many  changes  of  role  to 
reach  the  top. 

Mr.  Bacheller  was  born  in  Pierpont, 
New  York  State,  September  26,  1859. 
The  house  in  which  he  was  born  stands 

25 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

on  what  is  locally  called  Waterman  Hill, 
which  overlooks  Paradise  Valley,  a  spot 
familiar  to  those  who  have  read  "  Eben 
Holden."  His  first  books  he  carried  to 
the  Howard  School.  There  he  made  the 
acquaintance  of  rural  wit  and  strength. 
There  he  met  Mose  Tupper,  Jed  Leary, 
and  Elder  Whitmarsh.  Horace  Greeley, 
who  is  one  of  the  interesting  figures  in 
"  Eben  Holden/'  is  made  to  mention  the 
athletic  prowess  of  Jed.  When  he  was 
thirteen  years  old  he  started  out  to  find 
Dame  Fortune;  and  though  he  did  not 
find  her  then,  though  he  found  much 
trouble  but  little  gold,  he  gathered  the 
moss  that  all  rolling  stones  gather  —  the 
rich  evergreen  moss  of  worldly  wisdom. 
Of  this  wisdom  are  the  squat,  corrugated 
stove  and  the  open  cracker  barrel  of  the 
country  store  the  centres.  It  is  in  these 
stores,  far  from  the  madding  crowd,  that 
26 


IRVING    BACHELLER 

you  hear  some  of  the  best  humour  and 
some  of  the  soundest  philosophy. 

But  rare  humour  and  true  philosophy 
are  not  for  boys.  Young  Bacheller  soon 
tired  of  his  independence,  and  he  turned 
his  steps  to  Canton,  to  which  his  father 
had  moved  and  where  his  brothers  were 
being  schooled.  However,  after  a  short 
term  at  school  he  left  home  again.  Through 
Vermont  he  went  selling  farmers'  tools. 
But  still  he  was  unsuccessful ;  and  at  the 
age  of  nineteen  he  disposed  of  his  mer- 
chandise and  entered  St.  Lawrence  Uni- 
versity, from  which  he  was  graduated  in 
1882,  when  he  was  twenty-three.  While 
at  St.  Lawrence,  by  the  way,  he  estab- 
lished the  Alpha  Omicron  Chapter  of  the 
Alpha  Tau  Omega,  which,  they  say,  is 
to-day  one  of  the  most  flourishing  chapters 
of  that  fraternity;  and  there  he  also  be- 


27 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

came  a  member  of  the  select  Phi  Beta 
Kappa. 

A  few  months  after  graduation,  Bachel- 
ler  arrived  in  New  York  City  determined 
to  do  or  die.  For  a  year  he  was  connected 
with  a  little  paper  called  the  Daily  Hotel 
Reporter,  and  then  he  got  a  place  on  the 
staff  of  the  Brooklyn  Times.  That  same 
year,  1883,  in  Brooklyn,  he  married  Anna 
Detmar  Schultz. 

It  is  said  that  nothing  in  the  career  of 
a  literary  man  really  goes  to  waste.  Thus, 
in  1884,  while  reporting  the  great  political 
campaign  then  waging,  he  met  the  expe- 
rience which  William  Brower  meets  in 
one  of  the  last  chapters  in  "  Eben  Holden." 
He  was  mistaken  for  General  Batcheller, 
and  unwillingly  received  the  honours  de- 
signed for  the  noted  campaigner. 

With  Bacheller  on  the  staff  of  the  Times 
were  men  who  have  since  come  more  or  less 
28 


IE  VI  1ST  G    BACHELLEB 

to  the  front  — •  Charles  M.  Skinner,  Alex- 
ander Black,  Elbridge  S.  Brooks,  and  John 
L.  Heaton.  They  all  have  shared  the  in- 
spiration provided  by  the  desk  at  which 
Walt  Whitman  used  to  sit. 

Late  in  1884  Bacheller  left  the  Times 
and  founded  the  Bacheller  Syndicate,  an 
institution  which  served  the  best  interests 
of  literature  and  at  one  time  was  very 
prosperous.  As  the  head  of  it  Bacheller 
gave  Stephen  Crane  his  first  encourage- 
ment ;  and  then  the  two  young  men  became 
hearty  friends.  The  syndicate  also  intro- 
duced Anthony  Hope  and  Conan  Doyle  to 
the  reading  public  of  America. 

Crane  and  Bacheller  and  a  few  kindred 
spirits  erected  "  The  Sign  o'  the  Lan- 
thorn,"  as  they  ornately  called  it,  at  a 
house  on  Monkey  Hill,  one  of  the  quaint, 
decrepit  corners  of  old  New  York.  In  the 


29 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

book  of  this  club  is  this  page  in  Bacheller's 
own  handwriting: 

"  Once  a  number  of  young  men,  being 
jolly  fellows  of  excellent  credit  with  each 
other,  had  a  steady  habit  of  dining  at  the 
same  table.  And  one  of  them,  having  in- 
vention and  the  love  of  good  fellowship, 
proposed  a  club  where  each  might  show 
his  art  in  the  writing  of  verses,  tales,  plays, 
and  the  like,  and  where  sharp  criticism 
might  go  without  offence.  So  '  The  Sign 
o'  the  Lanthorn '  was  hung  over  the  door 
of  an  ancient  inn,  at  one  time  the  resort 
of  Captain  Kidd,  according  to  the  old 
histories.  Here  often  they  met  together 
and  read  things  they  had  written,  each 
trusting  bravely  in  the  work  of  his  own 
hand  and  getting  roundly  damned  for  its 
imperfections.  Great  men  came  to  eat 
and  drink  with  them  and  sit  around  the 
broad  chimney  of  the  club  and  hear  the 
30 


IRVING    BACHELLER 

tales  of  these  young  men  that  prospered, 
some  the  better  for  the  flicker  of  the  fire- 
light and  the  tossing  shadows  and  the 
crackle  of  the  burning  logs." 

For  about  fourteen  years  Bacheller  was 
a  broker  in  literary  material  for  news- 
papers and  periodicals.  Then,  through  a 
trick  of  the  little  devil  of  overconfidence, 
the  syndicate  struck  the  rocks;  and  John 
Brisben  Walker,  of  the  Cosmopolitan  Mag- 
azine, bought  what  remained  of  it.  Three 
months  later  the  founder  of  the  syndicate 
resigned  from  Mr.  Walker's  employ  and 
looked  about  him  for  something  /to  do. 

That  event  was  the  turning-point  in  his 
career. 

"  I  hadn't  very  much  capital  when  I 
left  Mr.  Walker's  employ,"  he  related  some 
years  afterward.  "  I  had  put  a  little 
money  aside,  and  my  wife  and  I  decided 
that  instead  of  looking  for  work,  it  would 

31 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

not  be  a  bad  idea  for  me  to  see  if  I  could 
produce  something  in  a  literary  way. 

"  The  extent  of  my  worldly  possessions 
you  may  judge  by  the  fact  that  I  thought 
fifteen  dollars  a  month  as  much  rent  as  I 
could  afford  while  engaged  in  this  literary 
work.  We  lived  at  Irvington-on-the-Hud- 
son.  I  was  a  literary  man  for  just  thirty 
days,  and  in  that  time  I  produced  thirty 
thousand  words. 

"  That  was  the  first  part  of  '  Eben  Hoi- 
den  '  as  it  now  stands.  I  mean  '  Eben 
Holden '  is  the  original  story  that  I  wrote 
then,  with  sixty  thousand  words  more 
tacked  on. 

"  I  sent  my  story,  which  I  then  called 
'  Uncle  EV  to  Harper's  Round  Table, 
to  the  Youth's  Companion,  and  to  St. 
Nicholas.  They  all  rejected  it  with  cheer- 
less unanimity. 

"  While  my  manuscript  was  starting  on 
32 


IEVIKG    BACHELLEE 

its  rounds,  I  received  an  offer  from  the 
proprietor  of  a  New  York  newspaper 
which  I  thought  I  could  not  afford  to 
decline.  So  for  a  year  or  more  I  engaged 
in  my  old  business  of  journalism. 

"  Finally,  a  friend  of  mine,  who  was 
once  on  the  staff  of  a  Brooklyn  paper,  and 
who  was  afterward  connected  with  my 
Boston  publishers,  wrote  to  me  and  told 
me  that  the  firm  was  looking  for  a  good 
novel.  He  said  he  thought  I  was  the  man 
to  write  it,  for  he  had  always  believed  that 
I  had  literary  talent  concealed  about  me 
somewhere.  In  reply,  I  said  to  him  that 
I  might  prepare  a  book,  but  that  I  didn't 
feel  very  much  disposed  to  give  up  the 
work  I  was  then  doing  to  go  into  any 
speculative  venture.  I  suggested  that  if 
the  firm  would  c  grub  stake '  me,  I  might 
consider  the  suggestion. 

"  To  my  surprise,  they  called  my  bluff. 

33 


LITTLE    PILGRIMAGES 

They  made  a  proposition  to  me,  and  I  ac- 
cepted it.  Then  I  dug  down  in  my  trunk 
and  took  up  '  Uncle  Eb,'  which  had  been 
so  unanimously  sat  upon,  sneered  at,  and 
rejected  by  three  other  publishing  houses. 
I  added  about  sixty  thousand  words  to  it, 
and  there  you  are. 

"  It  so  happened  that  business  kept  me 
travelling  a  good  deal  while  I  was  doing 
this,  and  much  of  the  story  was  written  on 
telegraph-blanks  in  Pullman  cars,  for  the 
'  grub  stakes ?  I  got  from  Boston  were  suffi- 
cient to  enable  me  to  travel  in  proper 
style." 

What  Mr.  Bacheller  omitted  to  say,  or 
the  reporter  failed  to  catch,  was  that 
"  Uncle  Eb  "  was  submitted  to  the  firm's 
readers  and  found  acceptable.  This  much 
may  be  said  to  preclude  the  impression 
that  any  firm  eagerly,  and  with  chuckles, 
accepts  what  other  firms  have  rejected. 
34 


IRVING    BACHELLER 

The  Boston  firm,  it  is  said,  paid  Mr. 
Bacheller  fifty  dollars  a  week  while  he 
was  weaving  "  Eben  Holden "  out  of 
"  Uncle  Eb."  It  was  a  lucky  gamble;  for 
there  was  no  certainty  that  the  story  would 
be  a  mighty  success.  The  firm  had  said 
"  a  good  novel,"  not  "  a  literary  sensa- 
tion." 

"  Eben  Holden  "  was  a  literary  sensa- 
tion from  the  start.  Such  sensations  are 
not  wholly  to  be  accounted  for;  but  there 
is  much  good  reading  in  the  book.  Ed- 
mund Clarence  Stedman,  who  is  the  kind 

and  yet  critical  patron  of  young  men  of 

/ 

letters,  has  remarked :  "  It  is  a  forest- 
scented,  fresh-aired,  bracing  and  wholly 
American  story  of  country  and  town  life." 
He  has  also  said :  "  If  in  the  far  f uture 
our  successors  wish  to  know  what  were  the 
real  life  and  atmosphere  in  which  the 
country  folk  that  saved  this  nation  grew, 

35 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

loved,  wrought,  and  had  their  being,  they 
must  go  back  to  such  true  and  zestful  and 
poetic  tales  of  fiction  as  '  Snowbound ' 
and  'Eben  Holden.'  "  Mr.  Howells  has 
termed  it  "  as  pure  as  water  and  as  good 
as  bread." 

It  is  worthy  of  note  that  this  first  of 
Mr.  Bacheller's  successes  is  near  the  four 
hundred  thousand  mark.  Truly  a  phenom- 
enal success. 

Close  in  the  wake  of  "  Eben  Holden  " 
followed  "  D'ri  and  I,"  a  tale  of  love  and 
adventure  harking  back  to  the  times  of 
Perry  and  his  braves.  The  wind  created 
by  "  Eben  Holden  "  served  to  carry  "  D'ri 
and  I "  through  many  editions,  but  the 
people  did  not  take  to  D'ri  as  they  had 
taken  to  Uncle  Eb.  Curiously  enough,  the 
London  Times  said,  in  the  course  of  its  re- 
view of  the  book :  "  NOT  does  anything  in 
Crane's  '  Red  Badge  of  Courage '  bring 
36 


IEVIKG    BACHELLER 

home  to  us  more  forcibly  the  horrors  of 
war  than  the  between-decks  and  the  cockpit 
of  a  crippled  ship  swept  from  stem  to  stern 
by  the  British  broadsides  in  an  action 
brought  a  I'outrance  on  Lake  Erie." 

Curious  it  was,  since  we  have  seen  how 
brotherly  Crane  and  Bacheller  once  were. 
Evidently  they  not  only  ate  at  the  same 
table  but  studied  the  same  models. 

Now  may  we  revert  to  "  Eben  Holden  " 
long  enough  to  take  a  look  behind  the 
scenes  —  with  the  author  himself  explain- 
ing: 

"  The  characters  in  the  book  are  not  por- 
traits," he  has  declared,  "  although  I  con- 
sider myself  to  a  great  extent  more  of  a 
copyist  than  a  novelist.  Uncle  Eben  is 
a  composite,  with  my  father's  hired  man 
as  the  basis,  and  some  members  of  my  own 
family  blended  into  it.  The  scene  of  the 
story  is  laid  in  Pierpont,  my  old  birth- 

37 


LITTLE    PILGRIMAGES 

place.  The  people  up  there  are  real  Amer- 
icans. They  have  the  quaint  philosophy 
that  can  be  developed  only  among  folks 
who  have  time  to  think.  In  E"ew  York 
(where  the  conversation  took  place)  few  of 
us  ever  have  that." 

And  now  for  a  fine  domestic  touch :  "  I 
attribute  much  of  my  success  to  the  help 
of  my  wife.  She  and  I  wrote c  Eben 
Holden '  together  —  especially  the  love 
scenes.  I  would  always  read  these  to  her 
and  ask  her  opinion.  Usually  her  opinion 
of  them  as  they  stood  when  I  first  turned 
them  out  was  very  poor.  In  fact,  she  made 
me  rewrite  most  of  them.  There  is  really 
no  one  whose  criticism  is  so  valuable  as 
your  wife's.  There  can  be  no  question  of 
her  disinterestedness.  A  mere  friend  may 
feel  timid  about  treading  on  your  feelings. 
He  may  offend  you,  and  he  often  sacrifices 


38 


IRVING    BACHELLER 

frankness  to  friendship.  The  beauty  of 
a  wife  is  that  she  doesn't." 

"  Darrell  of  the  Blessed  Isles  "  (a  sin- 
gularly attractive  title !)  is  Mr.  Bacheller's 
latest  book.  We  must  pass  over  "  The 
Master  of  Silence,"  which  he  produced  in 
1890,  and  "  The  Still  House  of  O'Dar- 
row,"  which  came  four  years  later,  and 
"  Candle-light,"  a  collection  of  "  sundry- 
tales  and  fancies  in  verse." 

Darrell  bids  fair  to  be  as  beloved  of  the 
reading  public  as  Eben  Holden  himself. 
He  is  at  once  amusing  and  arousing;  his 
odd  sayings  turn  a  smile  and  the  shadows 
behind  him  pique  curiosity.  The  charac- 
ter sketches  in  the  book  show  the  author  at 
his  best ;  and  at  his  best  Mr.  Bacheller  is 
very  entertaining  and  very  powerful. 
(l  Darrell  of  the  Blessed  Isles  "  is  as  whole- 
some as  the  air  of  Paradise  Valley.  It 
abounds  in  bright  spots  like  the  follow- 

39 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

ing  sketches  —  sketches  interspersed  with 
some  rare  humourous  phrases. 

"  There  were  two  kinds  of  people  in  Far- 
away, —  those  that  Exra  Tower  spoke  to 
and  those  he  didn't.  The  latter  were  of 
the  majority.  As  a  foreswearer  of  com- 
munication he  was  unrivalled.  His  imag- 
ination was  a  very  slaughter-house,  in 
which  all  who  crossed  him  were  slain.  If 
they  were  passing,  he  looked  the  other 
way  and  never  even  saw  them  again. 
Since  the  prohate  of  his  father's  will  both 
sisters  were  of  the  number  never  spoken  to. 
He  was  a  thin,  tall,  sullen,  dry,  and  dusty 
man.  Dressed  for  church  of  a  Sunday,  he 
looked  as  if  he  had  been  stored  a  year  in 
some  neglected  cellar.  His  broadcloth  had 
a  dingy  aspect,  his  hair  and  beard  and  eye- 
brows the  hue  of  a  cobweb.  He  had  a  voice 
slow  and  rusty,  a  look  arid  and  unfruitful. 


40 


IKVING    BACHELLEE 

Indeed,  it  seemed  as  if  the  fires  of  hate 
and  envy  had  burned  him  out."  .  .  . 

"  The  two  old  maids,  feeling  the  dis- 
grace of  it  and  fearing  more,  ceased  to 
visit  their  neighbours  or  even  to  pass  their 
own  gate.  Poor  Miss  S'mantha  fell  into 
the  deadly  mire  of  hypochondria.  She 
often  thought  herself  very  ill  and  sent 
abroad  for  every  medicine  advertised  in 
the  county  paper.  She  had  ever  a  faint 
look  and  a  thin,  sickly  voice.  She  had  the 
man-fear  —  a  deep  distrust  of  men,  never 
ceasing  to  be  on  her  guard.  .  .  .  Miss , 
Letitia  was  more  amiable.  She  had  a  play- 
ful, cheery  heart  in  her,  a  mincing  and  pre- 
cise manner,  and  a  sweet  voice.  What  with 
the  cleaning,  dusting,  and  preserving  they 
were  ever  busy.  A  fly,  driven  hither  and 
thither,  fell  of  exhaustion  if  not  disabled 
with  a  broom.  They  were  two  weeks  get- 
ting ready  for  the  teacher.  When,  at  last, 

41 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

he  came  that  afternoon,  supper  was  ready 
and  they  were  nearly  worn  out." 

Mr.  Bacheller  is  a  good-sized  man,  with 
a  blond  complexion  and  a  genial  coun- 
tenance. He  is  reputed  to  be  a  charming 
entertainer.  Most  of  his  hard  work  is 
done  at  his  residence  in  New  York,  while 
most  of  his  loafing  and  soul-inviting  is 
done  at  his  summer  house  in  Connecticut, 
by  the  waters  of  Long  Island  Sound. 


42 


JOHN    D.    HARRY. 


JOHN    D.     BARRY 


^ylNCE  last  spring  John  D.  Barry  has 
i  j  been  a  writer  of  fiction,  and  nothing 
else.  That  is  to  say,  he  has  aban- 
doned the  pleasant  and  popular  path  of 
dramatic  criticism,  which  leads  to  "  first 
nights,"  and  such  like  advantages,  and 
given  over  his  energy  wholly  to  the  pro- 
duction of  imaginative  literature. 

When  a  man  deliberately  chooses  to  leave 
one  fascinating  and  profitable  employment/ 
it  is  natural  to  assume  that  he  has  found 
another  equally  fascinating  and  profitable. 
The  assumption  fits  Mr.  Barry's  case,  at 
least. 

"I  wrote  dramatic  criticisms  for  Col- 
lier's Weekly  last  winter,  and  I  have  writ- 
ten some  miscellaneous  articles  on  stage 

43 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

matters  since,"  he  said  to  us  a  short  time 
ago,  "  but  from  now  on  I  shall  devote  my 
pen  to  stories  and  plays.  My  first  novel, 
{ A  Daughter  of  Thespis,'  has  just  ap- 
peared in  book  form,  and  '  The  Congress- 
man's Wife,'  which  won  the  two-thousand 
dollar  Smart  Set  prize  a  few  years  ago, 
will,  I  expect,  be  in  book  form  next  sea- 
son. A  play  of  mine  on  the  same  subject 
and  bearing  the  same  title  as  this  prize 
story  will  probably  be  produced  on  the 
stage  before  long.  I  am  hard  at  work  and 
hope  to  be  kept  hard  at  work  for  a  good 
long  time  to  come." 

His  reference  to  the  Smart  Set  prize 
story  reminded  us  of  a  literary  sensation 
in  which  Mr.  Barry  played  the  leading 
role  —  of  which  he  was  both  hero  and 
victim. 

He  sent  "  The  Congressman's  Wife  "  to 
the  Smart  Set  office  under  an  assumed 
44 


JOHN     D.     BAREY 

name,  as  is  the  custom  in  competitions  of 
that  kind;  and  with  the  story  he  sent  a 
note  in  which  he  said  that,  if  the  story 
should  be  successful,  he  wished  to  reserve 
the  hook  rights.  The  Smart  Set  people 
seemed  to  think  highly  of  the  tale  at  first 
reading,  and  they  sought  Mr.  Barry  with 
the  proposition  that  he  would  get  the  prize 
provided  he  agreed  to  let  them  share  the 
royalties  of  the  book  with  him,  or  pro- 
vided he  was  willing  to  buy  back  his  story 
for  five  hundred  dollars.  Well,  he  wanted 
the  two  thousand  dollars  and  the  adver- 
tising, and  he  agreed  either  to  share  or  to 
buy  back. 

When  he  received  the  proofs  of  the 
story,  however,  he  was  of  a  mind  to  with- 
draw his  agreement,  in  fact,  to  withdraw 
the  story  from  the  competition,  for  he 
found  that  it  had  been  altered  by  some 
one  not  exactly  in  sympathy  with  his  own 

45 


LITTLE     PILGKIMAGES 

nice  taste  in  words.  Of  course,  though  he 
protested,  he  got  no  satisfaction,  so  he 
forthwith  wrote  to  two  of  the  prominent 
literary  newspapers  of  New  York  explain- 
ing the  matter.  That  was  the  only  adver- 
tisement he  received,  for  the  Smart  Set 
published  the  story  without  his  name. 
Besides  the  two  thousand  dollars  and  the 
publicity  caused  by  his  protest,  he  received 
congratulatory  letters  from  sympathizing 
authors. 

Mr.  Barry  was  born  in  Boston  on  the 
last  day  of  December,  1866.  He  attended 
a  very  popular  grammar  school  in  South 
Boston,  the  Lawrence  School,  named  after 
the  father  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal 
Bishop  of  Massachusetts.  He  prepared 
for  college  at  the  famous  Boston  Latin 
School,  and  he  was  graduated  from  Har- 
vard in  the  class  of  1888.  For  a  year 
afterward  he  taught  school  in  Milton,  a 
46 


JOHN    D.     BARRY 

suburb  of  Boston,  and  incidentally  he 
contributed  articles  on  literature  and  the 
drama  to  some  of  the  Boston  papers. 

From  his  boyhood  he  has  been  deeply 
interested  in  the  stage. 

"  When  I  was  a  boy,"  he  said  to  us,  "  it 
was  a  habit  of  mine  to  attend  the  Boston 
Museum  (the  celebrated  playhouse  which 
is  now  giving  way  to  an  up-to-date  sky- 
scraper). Boys  under  fifteen  years  of  age 
could  enter  for  fifteen  cents,  and  I  slyly 
took  advantage  of  the  rule  until  I  was 
almost  a  grown-up  man.  If  one  ticket- 
seller  refused  to  be  hoodwinked,  I  went  to 
the  other;  but,  finally,  with  a  reluc- 
tance bordering  on  acute  distress,  I  entered 
the  thirty-five-cent  class.  That  rise  cost 
me  bitter  pangs  as  well  as  money." 

Naturally  this  passion  for  the  drama 
was  fostered  at  college,  and,  indeed,  there 
it  seemed  to  point  out  his  goal  for  the 

47 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

futura  At  the  end  of  a  year's  teaching 
he  secured  a  modest  position  on  the  Boston 
Post,  and  there,  under  Mr.  Fuller,  now  of 
the  Providence  Journal,  and  Mr.  Cope- 
land,  now  a  popular  professor  of  the  Eng- 
lish literature  at  Harvard,  he  had  oppor- 
tunities to  write  the  minor  notices  of 
plays.  In  a  short  time  he  went  to  the 
Boston  Traveller  as  literary  and  dramatic 
critic;  but  as  this  double-headed  position 
involved  more  hard  work  than  anything 
else,  the  young  aspirant  for  literary  hon- 
ours ventured  to  go  to  E"ew  York. 

There  he  worked  for  a  few  months  as 
a  substitute  reader  on  the  Cosmopolitan; 
and  then  he  was  assistant  editor  of  the 
Forum. 

While  working  on  the  Forum  it  occurred 

to  him  to  try  his  hand  at  novel  writing, 

and  so  he  settled  down  in  a  quiet  place  on 

Long  Island  and  let  his  imagination  and 

48 


JOHN     D.     BARRY 

observation  play  with  pen  and  ink.  It 
was  a  courageous  step  for  a  young  man 
to  take,  but,  as  it  turned  out,  the  courage 
must  have  risen  from  an  innate  conviction 
that  he  could  succeed. 

The  product  of  this  interesting  test  was 
"  A  Daughter  of  Thespis,"  which  the 
author  submitted  to  the  New  York  Trib- 
une. The  Tribune  accepted  it ;  even  paid 
him  generously  for  it;  and  with  this 
money,  and  the  little  left  from  his  savings, 
he  went  abroad. 

The  next  fifteen  months,  Mr.  Barry  says, 
were  perhaps  the  most  delightful  in  all  his 
experience.  First  he  spent  a  few  weeks  in 
London,  then  he  spent  a  few  more  in  Paris, 
then  he  travelled  slowly  through  the  south 
of  Europe,  and  by  and  by  he  drifted  back 
to  London,  where  he  joined  Will  "N. 
Harben,  the  charming  Southern  story- 
writer  ;  and  together  they  spent  the  winter 

49 


LITTLE    PILGRIMAGES 

in  Paris.  Then,  alone,  Mr.  Barry  travelled 
to  Normandy,  where  he  wrote  a  story, 
"  Mademoiselle  Blanche,"  and  where  he 
learned  to  appreciate  the  perfect  realism 
of  Claude  Monet's  pictures.  Mr.  Barry 
always  speaks  of  Normandy  as  though  he 
wished  he  were  about  to  revisit  it.  While 
abroad  he  also  wrote  "  The  Intriguers." 
This  tour  lasted  fifteen  months. 

Shortly  after  his  return  he  became  dra- 
matic critic  of  Harper  s  Weekly }  and  from 
Harper's  he  later  went  to  Collier's. 

"  Don't  you  regret  giving  up  your  criti- 
cal work  ?  "  was  asked  him. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  he  replied,  "  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  I  look  forward  to  this  very 
interesting  work  of  another  kind.  I  en- 
joyed my  work  as  a  critic  very  much.  The 
fact  is,  my  duty  as  a  critic  gave  a  zest  to 
my  interest  in  every  play  that  I  attended. 
It  also  trained  my  powers  of  observation. 
50 


JOHN    D.     BARKY 

I  have  obser-ved,  for  instance,  that  the  pub- 
lic is  very  whimsical,  and  that  some  critics 
are  curiously  narrow.  After  all,  when  a 
critic  shows  narrowness  we  must  say  that 
he  is  unreliable. 

"  Undoubtedly  the  stage  has  degener- 
ated —  intellectually,  I  mean.  Most  of  the 
plays  are  mere  trash,  and  many  of  the 
players  are  altogether  lacking  in  artistic 
sensibilities.  Yet  poor  plays  and  poor 
actors  are  successful.  To  some  extent  our 
novelists  are  responsible  for  this  degenera- 
tion, for  some  silly  popular  books  have  been 
transformed  into  equally  silly  and  popular 
plays." 

Mr.  Barry  has  a  fondness  for  literary 
company;  yet,  at  the  same  time,  he  has  a 
natural  liking  for  outdoor  sports.  One 
might  tell  this  by  his  vigorous  appearance, 
his  healthy  healthful  complexion.  He 
spent  a  part  of  last  winter  at  Pine- 

51 


LITTLE    PILGBIMAGES 

hurst,  in  the  South,  and  there  he  met  an- 
other young  man  who,  after  awhile,  came 
to  him  and  said :  "  When  I  heard  that  you 
were  a  writer,  I  rather  wanted  to  keep 
away  from  you,  but  now  that  I  see  you're 
a  good  rider  it's  all  right." 

He  believes  in  athletic  recreations.  His 
method  is  to  work  in  the  morning,  say, 
from  nine  until  noon,  and  then  in  the  after- 
noon go  out  riding.  He  writes  with  re- 
markable speed,  for  he  can  write  twenty- 
five  hundred  words  in  the  course  of  a  few 
hours.  At  the  end  of  this  task  he  is  com- 
pletely exhausted.  It  seems  that  in  writ- 
ing he  expends  a  large  amount  of 
nervous  energy.  Though  not  nervous  in 
manner,  he  has  to  control  a  constant 
tendency  toward  nervousness.  He  is  a 
restless  student  of  human  nature,  as 
may  be  gathered  from  the  lifelikeness  of 
his  characters,  and,  though  his  sensibilities 
52 


JOH1ST    D.     BAEEY 

are  uncommonly  artistic,  yet  he  has  a 
shrewd  side  that  offers  safe  anchorage  for 
his  ambition.  Metropolitan  life  has  a  weak 
hold  upon  him,  and,  apparently,  so  have 
feminine  charms,  for  he  is  a  bachelor. 
While  working  in  New  York  he  lived  in  a 
suburb  called  Englewood,  and  now  he  lives 
in  Brighton,  a  suburb  of  Boston.  While  at 
Englewood,  by  the  way,  he  indulged  his 
passion  for  the  stage  to  the  extent  of  taking 
part  in  the  performance  of  one  of  his  own 
plays. 

This  is  a  list  of  Mr.  Barry's  works  up 
to  date :  "  The  Princess  Margarethe,"  a 
so-called  child's  story,  but  suited  quite  as 
much  to  adult  as  to  juvenile  tastes ;  "  A 
Daughter  of  Thespis,"  "  The  Intriguers," 
"  Mademoiselle  Blanche,"  "  The  Leading 
Woman,"  and  "  The  Congressman's  Wife." 
The  last  two  stories  appeared  in  the  Smart 
Set. 

53 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

"  A  Daughter  of  Thespis  "  is  a  remark- 
ably interesting  story  —  and  when  we  say 
u  remarkably  interesting/'  we  mean  it.  In 
the  first  place,  it  deals  with  the  ever  fas- 
cinating subject  of  the  stage ;  and,  further- 
more, it  has  a  very  attractive  plot  and  a 
very  satisfying  style. 

To  exemplify  these  facile,  lifelike 
touches,  we  may  quote  the  scene  on  the 
stage  the  night  the  heroine,  Evelyn  John- 
son, made  her  first  appearance  in  "  Decep- 
tion," the  work  of  the  hero,  Leonard 
Thayer. 

"  Several  of  the  actors  began  to  gather 
on  the  stage  and  in  the  wings.  In  the 
glare  of  the  light,  with  their  faces  covered 
with  paint  and  powder,  and  their  heads 
enshrouded  in  thick  wigs,  they  were  gro- 
tesque figures.  Leonard  Thayer  looked  at 
them  with  curiosity.  Evelyn  could  see 


54 


JOHN    D.     BAKRY 

from  the  expression  on  his  face  that  he  was 
amused. 

"  Presently  the  orchestra  began  to  play. 
'  I  feel  a  kind  of  sinking/  said  Thayer, 
putting  his  hand  to  his  heart.  f  I  wonder 
if  playwrights  have  stage  fright.' 

" '  I  should  think  they  would/  Evelyn 
replied. 

"  i  In  a  few  moments  the  agony  will 
begin/  he  said,  with  an  expression  of  bur- 
lesque misery  upon  his  face. 

"  '  You  aren't  very  complimentary/  said 
Evelyn,  reproachfully. 

"  '  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  didn't 
mean  you.  I'm  not  afraid  of  you.  I'm 
afraid  of  myself,  my  work,  of  the  audience, 
and  Davidson.' 

"  '  Davidson  is  very  popular,  you  know.' 

"  •'  But  he'll  spoil  my  piece,'  said 
Thayer,  with  a  touch  of  sincerity  in  his 
tone. 

55 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

"  The  stage-manager  came  rushing  on 
the  stage.  '  How  is  everything  ?  All 
right  ? '  he  asked,  excitedly,  turning  here 
and  there  to  make  sure  that  the  scene  had 
been  properly  set.  No  one  replied,  and  he 
disappeared  again.  In  a  few  moments  he 
returned.  '  Are  you  all  right,  Miss  John- 
son ? '  Evelyn  bowed,  and  walked  over 
and  sat  in  the  seat  by  the  table,  where,  on 
the  rise  of  the  curtain,  she  was  to  be  dis- 
covered with  a  letter  in  her  hand.  '  Oh, 
Thayer,  how  are  you  ?  Great  night !  Nerv- 
ous ?  Why  aren't  you  in  front  ?  Can't 
have  authors  on  the  stage,  you  know.' 

"  '  Oh,  don't  mind  me,'  Thayer  laughed, 
walking  into  the  wings.  '  I'm  going  to 
get  out,  anyway.' 

"  As  she  sat  in  the  chair,  Evelyn  felt 
a  tremor,  which  speedily  developed  into 
terror.  She  thought  of  all  that  the  even- 
ing might  mean  to  her :  the  success  or  f  ail- 
56 


JOHN    D.     BARRY 

ure  of  her  whole  career.  But  she  must 
gather  courage ;  she  must  go  on.  She  had 
a  fantastic  impulse  to  rush  out  into  the 
wings,  and  to  escape  from  the  theatre  by 
the  stage-door.  But  when  the  orchestra 
ceased  playing  and  the  hush  of  expectancy 
followed,  her  nervousness  passed  suddenly 
away.  For  a  moment  the  chatter  was 
hushed ;  then  a  bell  rang.  The  great  cur- 
tain rose  slowly.  Evelyn  felt  herself  in  a 
flood  of  light  confronted  by  a  mass  of  dark- 
ness. She  heard  a  little  applause,  that 
seemed  to  come  from  a  distance,  and  she 
waited  till  it  ceased.  Then  she  thought 
that  her  power  of  speech  had  left  her ;  but, 
when  she  made  an  effort,  the  words  came 
easily  enough,  and,  with  a  sudden  sense  of 
elation,  she  spoke  the  opening  lines." 

While  Mr.  Barry,  personally,  thinks  at 
least  as  well  of  some  of  his  other  works  — 
notably  "  Mademoiselle  Blanche  "  —  as  he 

57 


LITTLE    PILGBIMAGES 

does  of  "  A  Daughter  of  Thespis,"  he  has 
good  reason  to  feel  pleased  with  the  notices 
which  the  story  of  Evelyn  Johnson  has 
received.  William  Dean  Howells,  for  ex- 
ample, has  written :  "  I  should  say  that 
'  A  Daughter  of  Thespis  '  seemed  so  honest 
about  actors  and  acting  that  it  made  you 
feel  as  if  the  stage  had  never  been  truly 
written  about  before.  ...  I  simply 
couldn't  put  it  down;  I  couldn't  miss  a 
word.  .  .  .  But  why  does  Mr.  John  D. 
Barry  write  so  much  of  the  stage  ? 

"  Because,  I  believe,  he  had  some  train- 
ing for  it>  and  probably  loves  it  as  much 
as  he  seems  to  hate  it.  At  any  rate,  he 
loves  to  write  of  it,  to  ascertain  it,  to 
declare  it,  as  it  rarely  has  been  ascertained 
and  declared  before.  Doesn't  he  do  all 
these  different  histrionic  types  with  aston- 
ishing vividness  ?  That  plain  style  of  his 
—  which  one  may  call  bare  or  bald,  for 
58 


JOHN    D.     BAKKY 

all  I  care;  it's  so  much  better  than  any- 
thing florid  —  renders  them  all  alive;  it 
gives  them  to  you  characters,  persons,  ac- 
quaintances ;  you  associate  and  suffer  and 
enjoy  with  them.  I  know  the  book  of  old, 
for  I  read  it  when  it  came  out  a  serial,  and 
now  that  it  has  got  into  a  book  I  should  not 
be  greatly  surprised  if  it  won  the  high 
place  which  belongs  to  it,  though  good  luck 
doesn't  always  attend  good  books.  The 
author  is  a  man  of  unquestionable  talent, 
and  he  cannot  rest  from  following  it  with 
other  novels  of  the  same  honesty,  the  same 
quality. 

"  Well,  he  will  have  me  for  a  reader  of 
whatever  he  writes.  Why,  I  never  ~knew 
a  more  naturally  right-minded  and  wrong- 
minded  girl  than  that  Evelyn  Johnson 
heroine  of  his,  who  is  too  good  for  her  art, 
and  not  great  enough;  and  if  all  actors 
were  like  those  in  his  book,  even  when  they 

59 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

were  bad,  even  when  they  were  women,  I 
should  just  love  them.  But  do  you  think 
that  a  novel  ought  to  be  written  with  such 
perfect  common  sense?  It  almost  scared 
me.  I  suppose  I  didn't  expect  it.  You 
don't  often  get  it,  whether  you  expect  it 
or  not  Perhaps  it  may  yet  be  the  fashion, 
though." 

Making  due  allowance  for  the  encourage- 
ment which  Mr.  Howells  puts  into  most 
of  his  criticisms,  this  is  one  of  the  most 
complimentary  notices  ever  received  by  a 
young  author. 


60 


ARLO    BATES 


AKLO    BATES 


TT  TOW  Arlo  Bates,  whose  latest  novel 
t~1    is  "  The  Diary  of  a  Saint,"  en- 
tered literature  has  been  told  on 
two  separate  occasions  to  the  writer  of  these 
sketches    by   the   novelist   himself.      Mr. 
Bates  has  always  been  a  cordial  host  to 
journalists,  for  he  has  had  more  or  less  to 
do  with  journalism  himself. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  in  his  con- 
fessions to  a  brother- journalist,  Mr.  Bates 
said: 

"  Well,  my  literary  career  literally  be- 
gan before  I  could  write,  for  I  used  to 
dictate  stories  before  I  had  mastered  one 
essential  qualification  for  the  life  of  letters. 
I  also  improvised  plays,  which  I  played 
with  my  brothers  and  sisters. 

61 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

"  I  was  brought  up  in  a  literary  atmos- 
phere, for  my  home  in  childhood  and  boy- 
hood was  in  one  of  the  old  New  England 
academy  towns,  then  virtually  the  centre 
of  the  intellectual  life  of  the  country.  My 
father  was  a  country  doctor,  whose  whole 
leisure  was  devoted  to  books,  and  I  have 
never  yet  met  a  man  of  keener  and  sounder 
critical  instincts.  One  of  my  earliest  and 
most  vivid  recollections  is  of  sitting  upon 
a  footstool  between  my  father's  knees,  be- 
fore the  fire,  while  he  read  Shakespeare  to 
me  and  explained  passage  after  passage. 

"  I  always  wrote  enormously,  volumi- 
nously, and  I  made  my  first  appearance  in 
print  while  I  was  in  Bowdoin  College, 
when  I  was  about  nineteen  years  old.  I 
remember  the  thing  very  well.  It  made 
its  appearance  in  the  Portland  Transcript, 
and  the  first  money  I  earned  by  my  pen 
was  a  cheque  for  three  dollars.  Some- 
62 


AELO    BATES 


how,  those  old  dollars  seemed  quite  unlike 
any  dollars  I  had  ever  seen  before,  and,  to 
be  frank,  they  still  occupy  quite  a  distinct 
place  in  the  currency  of  the  United  States. 
While  at  Bowdoin  I  also  began  to  write  for 
the  8t.  Nicholas  Magazine." 

The  caller  inquired  whether  while  at  col- 
lege Mr.  Bates  had  really  made  up  his 
mind  to  adopt  literature  as  a  profession. 

"  I  don't  think  I  ever  weighed  the  mat- 
ter very  carefully,"  Mr.  Bates  replied. 
"  Literature  was  always  an  absorbing  pas- 
sion with  me,  and  I  do  not  believe  I  ever 
reflected  much  about  the  material  prospects 
it  offered  in  our  industrial  community.  I 
knew  very  little  of  the  world,  and  in  enter- 
ing upon  my  life-work  I  drifted  into  what 
had  always  claimed  my  whole  interest  and 
sympathy,  without  making  any  deliberate 
choice,  but  after  duly  considering  the  pro- 
fessions open  to  me. 

63 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

"  I  graduated  from  Bowdoin  at  the  age 
of  twenty-five,  and  then  I  came  to  Boston 
and  lived  in  an  attic  and  wrote  copiously 
and  industriously  day  and  night.  But  the 
greater  part  of  my  manuscript  was  re- 
turned to  me  by  the  discriminating  editors 
to  whom  it  was  submitted." 

"  And  did  you  really  go  through  the  pri- 
vations of  Chatterton,  Goldsmith,  or  Doctor 
Johnson  here  in  Boston  ? "  the  visitor 
asked. 

"  That  is  not  at  all  impossible  for  any 
man  who  tries  to  live  by  pure  literature," 
Mr.  Bates  answered.  "It  is  accepting 
very  great  hazards  for  any  man  to  attempt 
to  support  himself  by  his  pen  without  any 
regular  journalistic  or  other  employment. 
I  did  not  actually  starve,  for  I  had  occa- 
sional assistance  from  sources  upon 
which  I  could  put  more  dependence  than 
upon  the  productions  of  my  pen.  My  great 
64 


AELO    BATES 


difficulty  in  the  beginning  was  that  I  had 
lived  almost  my  whole  life  in  a  library,  and 
the  habit  of  my  mind  was  so  largely  intro- 
spective that  my  writings  were  not  in  tune. 
I  lacked  experience  of  the  world,  and  so  I 
made  a  great  many  blunders  from  which  an 
earlier  contact  with  men  would  have  saved 
me.  For  a  year  my  literary  returns  were 
so  small  that  I  had  to  support  myself  by 
teaching  and  by  painting  on  china." 

After  a  year  of  this  kind  of  discipline, 
Mr.  Bates  got  an  appointment  as  secretary 
of  a  Republican  organization  in  Boston,  but_ 
before  he  had  been  long  in  this  work  the 
members  of  the  organization  began  to  drift 
toward  Mugwumpery,  and  at  times  to 
Democracy.  While  in  this  secretaryship 
Mr.  Bates  edited  a  political  paper,  The 
Broadside.  At  the  end  of  two  years  and 
a  half  he  became  a  clerk  in  the  office  of  a 
firm  dealing  in  metals.  This  was  in  1879. 

65 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

"  During  this  time,  in  my  odd  hours/' 
says  Mr.  Bates,  "  I  wrote  my  first  novel, 
which  was  published  the  same  year  in 
which  I  became  editor  of  the  Boston 
Courier  —  and  that  was  in  1880.  The 
book  was  called  '  Patty's  Perversities,'  and 
it  was  published  in  the  Round  Robin 
series  then  controlled  by  the  old  Boston 
firm  of  Osgood  and  Co.  I  remember  dis- 
tinctly the  difficulties  under  which  the  story 
was  written  —  in  the  scrappy  leisure  of  a 
man  of  business  —  and  I  cannot  help 
thinking  what  a  supply  of  energy  I  had  in 
those  days. 

"  I  served  the  Courier  for  thirteen  years, 
from  August,  1880,  to  August,  1893. 
Those  years  are  chiefly  memorable  to  me 
for  the  enormous  amount  of  work  of  all 
sorts  that  I  did  for  the  Courier,  and  for 
other  people.  I  never  did  like  journal- 
istic work ;  it  is  too  hurried,  and  it  leaves 
66 


AELO    BATES 


a  man  no  strength  for  well-considered  and 
carefully  wrought  literary  work.  A  man 
who  is  in  journalism  can  do  nothing  else, 
unless  he  pays  a  terrible  price  in  ruined 
health  for  his  temerity;  and,  besides,  T 
have  always  had  a  passion  for  pure  litera- 
ture, For  this  one  needs  not  only  leisure, 
but  all  the  strength  of  one's  faculties." 

The  interviewer  ventured  the  opinion 
that  Professor  Bates  had  led  a  bustling  life 
for  one  with  quiet  tastes. 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  busy,"  the  professor 
replied.  "  Needs  must,  when  the  devil 
drives,  you  know.  While  I  was  on  the 
Courier  I  not  only  wrote  the  most  impor- 
tant book  criticisms,  and  the  editorials,  and 
the  department  called  '  Opposite  the  Old 
South,'  which  I  originated  and  for  which 
no  one  but  myself  ever  wrote  a  line,  but 
I  corresponded  for  the  Providence  Journal, 
the  Chicago  Tribune,  and  the  Book  Buyer. 

67 


LITTLE     PILGRIMAGES 

I  have  now  given  up  all  these,  and  am 
devoting  all  my  time  to  my  English  lectures 
at  the  Massachusetts  Institute  of  Tech- 
nology, to  my  literary  work,  and  to  my 
own  studies." 

Professor  Bates's  second  novel,  "  The 
Ties  of  Blood,"  lies  buried  in  the  files  of 
the  Boston  Courier,,  in  which  it  was 
printed  serially.  The  story  turns  on  the 
shocking  situation  of  a  girl  believing  that 
she  has  married  her  own  brother.  Even- 
tually her  doubt  is  removed  by  the  proof 
that  her  husband  is  not  her  brother.  The 
manuscript  was  first  submitted  to  the  pub- 
lishers of  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  Messrs. 
Ticknor  and  Fields,  and  Mr.  William 
Dean  Howells,  who  was  then  one  of  the 
editors  of  the  Atlantic,  so  vehemently  op- 
posed its  publication  that  the  young  author 
decided  to  make  no  further  attempts  to 
have  it  published  in  book  form. 
68 


AELO    BATES 


However,  it  is  interesting  at  this  point 
to  say  that  but  for  Mr.  Howells,  Professor 
Bates's  "Wheel  of  Fire,"  still  regarded 
by  some  as  his  best  work,  might  not  have 
appeared.  The  story,  it  will  be  recalled, 
has  to  do  with  hereditary  insanity.  The 
climax  is  the  sudden  madness  of  a  girl  on 
her  wedding-day. 

Professor  Bates  had  this  story  in  mind 
for  a  long  time,  but,  thinking  it  too  sombre, 
he  could  not  prevail  upon  himself  to 
write  it. 

He  had  mentioned  the  matter  to  Mr. 
Howells,  and  the  veteran  novelist,  meeting 
his  younger  friend  one  day,  inquired 
whether  the  story  was  written. 

"  No,"  said  Bates.  "  I  think  I  sha'n't 
write  it  at  all." 

"You  can't  afford  to  let  a  good  idea 
like  that  go  by,"  was  Howells's  comment. 


69 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

"  I  should  advise  you  to  go  home  and 
write.it." 

Mr.  Bates  at  one  time  regarded  "  The 
Puritans  "  as  the  best  of  his  novels ;  but 
an  author's  highest  opinion  is  likely  to  be 
bestowed  upon  his  latest  work. 

At  the  same  time,  the  delightful  author 
of  "  Oriental  Tales  "  has  well  expressed 
an  author's  publication-day  sentiments: 
u  After  a  man  has  written  a  book  and  then 
read  the  manuscript  to  find  fault,  and  then 
read  the  galley  proofs  for  the  same  purpose, 
he  has  very  little  conceit  of  the  thing  left. 
He  has  seen  nothing  but  faults;  and  the 
disparity  between  his  first  conception  and 
his  final  impression  of  the  completed  book 
makes  a  man  very  melancholy." 

Professor  Bates  was  born  at  East  Ma- 

chias,  Maine,  December  16,  1850.  He  was 

graduated  from  Bowdoin  College  in  1876. 

In  his  senior  year  he  edited  the  college 

70 


AELO    BATES 


paper,  the  Bowdoin  Orient.  A  few  months 
after  his  graduation  he  went  to  Boston  to 
make  a  name  for  himself  —  with,  at  first, 
the  result  aforementioned.  For  a  year, 
beginning  in  1878,  he  edited  The  Broad- 
side, a  politico-eclectic  sheet,  and  wrote  for 
the  magazines.  In  1880  he  took  the  edi- 
torial chair  of  the  Boston  Sunday  Courier, 
a  Boston  weekly. 

In  1882  he  married  Miss  Harriet  L. 
Vose,  a  daughter  of  a  well-known  school- 
master, who  wrote  a  little  under  the  pseu- 
donym of  Eleanor  Putnam.     She  died  in  * 
1886,  leaving  a  son. 

"Patty's  Perversities,"  Bates's  first 
book,  appeared  in  1881.  Two  years  later 
came  "  Mr.  Jacobs,"  a  popular  parody  of 
the  day.  After  that,  in  irregular  and  lei- 
surely succession,  came  "The  Pagans,"  "A 
Wheel  of  Fire,"  "  Berries  of  the  Brier," 
"  Sonnets  in  Shadow,"  "  A  Lad's  Love," 

71 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

"-The  Philistines,"  "  Albrecht,"  "The 
Poet  and  His  Self,"  "  A  Book  o'  Nine 
Tales,"  "Told  in  the  Gate,"  "In  the 
Bundle  of  Time,"  "  The  Torch  Bearers," 
"  Talks  on  Writing  English,"  "  Talks  on 
the  Study  of  English  Literature,"  "  The 
Puritans,"  "Under  the  Beech  Tree," 
"  Love  in  a  Cloud,"  and  "  The  Diary  of  a 
Saint."  In  1886  he  paused  in  his  own 
work  to  edit  a  book  left  unfinished  by  his 
wife,  "  Old  Salem,"  which  has  been  spoken 
of  as  "  a  fragment  of  great  promise." 
With  his  wife,  too,  he  wrote  "  Prince 
Vance,"  a  fairy  story,  dedicated  to  "  the 
boy  Oric," 

For  the  last  ten  years  Mr.  Bates  has  been 
professor  of  English  literature  at  the  Mas- 
sachusetts Institute  of  Technology,  the  fore- 
most technical  school  in  the  United  States, 
if  not  in  the  world.  He  has  also  delivered 
lectures  on  English  literature  in  the  Lowell 
72 


AKLO    BATES 


Institute  courses,  which  are  a  rare  feature 
of  the  intellectual  life  of  Boston. 

Speaking  of  his  verse,  which  is  justly 
praised  for  its  grace  of  style  and  piquancy 
of  expression,  Mr.  Bates  has  said  that  his 
favourite  poem  is  "  The  Beginning  and 
Ending,"  which  may  be  found  at  the  end  of 
the  volume  entitled  "  The  Poet  and  His 
Self." 

Mr.  Bates  produces  striking  effects  with 
the  utmost  simplicity.  He  is  enabled  so  to 
do  by  reason  of  his  acute  sense  of  dramatic 
values,  which  reduces  the  strongest  situa- 
tion to  a  few  important  actions,  and  of  his 
strong  command  of  effective  phrases.  Take 
this  scene  from  "  The  Diary  of  a  Saint :  " 

"  February  1.  I  wonder  sometimes  if 
human  pride  is  not  stronger  than  human 
affection.  Certainly  it  seems  sometimes 
that  we  feel  the  wound  to  vanity  more  than 
the  blow  to  love.  I  suppose  that  the  truth 

73 


LITTLE    PILGRIMAGES 

is  that  the  little  prick  stings  where  the 
blow  numbs.  For  the  moment  it  seemed 
to  me  to-night  as  if  I  felt  more  the  sudden 
knowledge  that  the  village  knows  of  my 
broken  engagement  than  I  did  the  suffer- 
ing of  the  fact ;  but  I  shall  have  forgotten 
this  to-morrow,  and  the  real  grief  will  be 
left. 

"Miss  Charlotte,  tall  and  gaunt,  came 
in  just  at  twilight.  She  brought  a  lovely 
moss-rose  bud. 

"  *  Why,  Miss  Charlotte,'  I  said,  '  you 
have  never  cut  the  one  bud  off  your  moss- 
rose  !  I  thought  that  was  as  dear  to  you  as 
the  apple  of  your  eye.' 

"  c  It  was/  she  answered,  with  her  gay- 
est air.  '  That's  why  I  brought  it.' 

"'  Mother  will  be  delighted,'  I  said; 
'  that  is,  if  she  can  forgive  you  for  picking 
it.' 

"  '  It  isn't  for  your  mother,'  Miss  Char- 
74 


AELO    BATES 


lotte  said,  with  a  sudden  softening  of  her 
voice ;  '  it  is  for  you.  I'm  an  old  woman, 
you  know,  and  I've  whims.  It's  my  whim 
for  you  to  have  the  bud  because  I've 
watched  it  growing,  and  loved  it  almost 
as  if  it  were  my  own  baby.' 

"  Then  I  knew  that  she  had  heard  of  the 
broken  engagement.  The  sense  of  the  vil- 
lage gossip,  the  idea  of  being  talked  over 
at  the  sewing-circle,  came  to  me  so  vividly 
and  so  dreadfully  that  for  a  moment  I 
could  hardly  get  my  breath.  Then  I  re- 
membered the  sweetness  of  Miss  Charlotte's 
act,  and  I  went  to  her  and  kissed  her. 
The  poor  old  dear  had  tears  in  her  eyes, 
but  she  said  nothing.  She  understood,  I 
am  sure,  that  I  could  not  talk,  but  that  I 
had  seen  what  she  meant  me  to  see,  her 
sympathy  and  her  love.  We  sat  down  be- 
fore the  fire  in  the  gathering  dusk,  and 
talked  of  indifferent  things.  She  praised 

75 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

Peter's  beauty,  although  the  ungrateful 
Peter  refused  to  stay  in  her  lap,  and  would 
not  be  gracious  under  her  caresses.  She 
did  not  remain  long,  and  she  was  gay  after 
her  fashion.  Miss  Charlotte  is  apt  to  cover 
real  feeling  with  a  decent  veil  of  facetious- 
ness. 

" '  Now  I  must  go  home  and  get  my 
party  ready,'  she  said,  rising  with  char- 
acteristic suddenness. 

"  ( Are  you  going  to  have  a  party  ? '  I 
asked,  in  some  surprise. 

"  '  I  have  one  every  night,  my  dear,'  she 
returned,  with  her  explosive  laugh.  '  All 
the  Kendall  ghosts  come.  It  isn't  very 
gay,  but  it's  very  select.' 

"  She  hurried  away,  and  left  me  more 
touched  than  I  should  have  wished  her  to 
see." 

The  scene  could  hardly  be  simpler,  or 
more  human,  or  more  affecting. 
76 


AKLO    BATES 


Mr.  Bates  is  a  tall,  rugged  man, 
bearded  and  goggled,  with  a  brisk  manner 
and  a  ready  flow  of  words.  He  is  very 
busy  from  early  fall  until  the  end  of 
spring;  but  all  the  summer  he  rambles, 
more  often  at  home,  but  sometimes 
abroad.  While  on  these  rambles  his  eyes 
and  ears  are  ever  alert  for  striking  scenes 
and  sayings;  and  he  returns  to  Boston 
with  his  note-book  well  filled. 

He  is  a  member  of  Boston's  two  artistic 
clubs,  the  Tavern  and  the  St.  Botolph ;  and 
his  home  in  Otis  Place,  at  the  foot  of 
Beacon  Hill,  overlooking  the  Charles 
River,  is  within  hailing  distance  of  the 
homes  of  Sarah  Orne  Jewett,  and  Mrs. 
Deland,  and  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich. 


77 


CYRUS    TOWN8END    BRADY. 


CYKUS    TOWNSEND    BEADY 


rHIS  is  the  Keverend  Cyrus  Town- 
send  Brady's  own  account  of  his 
entrance  into  the  literary  field : 

"  When  I  was  a  preacher,  and  a  pretty 
green  preacher  at  that,  I  practised  extem- 
poraneous speaking,  with  more  or  less  dis- 
astrous consequences,  both  to  myself  and 
to  the  congregation.  But,  as  a  result,  the 
extemporaneous  habit  became  fixed  upon 
ma 

"  When  I  remarked,  one  day  in  1898,  to 
Bishop  Whitaker,  while  we  were  riding  in 
a  trolley-car,  that  I  believed  I'd  write  a 
book,  he  laughed.  That  laugh  put  me  on 
my  mettle.  I  determined  to  write  a  book. 
But  I  couldn't  do  it,  for,  you  see,  I  had 


79 


LITTLE    PILGRIMAGES 

never  cultivated  the  pen  habit.  I  was  and 
am  too  lazy. 

"  Here  was  a  pretty  mess ;  and  the  good 
bishop's  laugh  was  constantly  in  my  ears. 
In  this  extremity  I  thought  of  my  extem- 
poraneous sermons  and  exclaimed: 

"  '  Oh,  if  I  could  only  talk  the  book! ' 

"  I  put  aside  the  idea  of  a  stenographer 
after  a  cursory  glance  at  my  pocketbook. 
I  had  about  given  up  hope  when  I  thought 
of  the  phonograph.  Into  one  I  straight- 
way talked  '  For  Love  of  Country.'  The 
phonograph  got  even.  It  persisted  in  run- 
ning down  at  the  most  exciting  parts. 
When  I'd  stop  to  think  about  a  sentence  or 
a  word  it  would  keep  right  on  grinding,  and 
I  nearly  worried  myself  sick  over  the 
thought  that  the  good  cylinders  were  going 
to  waste.  I  had  a  strenuous  time  of  it. 

"  To  cap  the  climax,  when  I  read  a  por- 
tion of  the  transcription  to  Mrs.  Brady,  she 
80 


CYKUS    TOWNSEND    BEADY 

said:  '  You'd  better  stick  to  preaching/ 
My  reward  came,  however,  when  a  pub- 
lisher's letter  a  few  weeks  later  assured  me 
that  he  had  formed  a  different  opinion  of 
the  book.  As  a  result  I  have  been  preach- 
ing and  writing  ever  since,  and  I'm  glad  to 
say  I've  yet  to  experience  the  sensation  of 
having  a  manuscript  rejected." 

The  visitor  waited  for  Mr.  Brady  to  cor- 
rect himself.  Nor  did  he  wait  in  vain,  for, 
with  a  laugh,  the  romancer  said: 

"  That's  hardly  true,  on  second  thought. 
I  wrote  four  short  stories  when  I  was 
twenty-one,  just  after  I  left  the  Naval 
Academy.  They  were  rejected  all  over  the 
United  States.  Two  of  them  were  stored 
in  an  old  trunk.  One  has  been  lost.  The 
fourth  I  used  for  the  foundation  of 
'Woven  with  the  Ship.'  Well,  anyhow, 
after  these  four  stories  had  travelled  to 
every  corner  of  the  land  in  unavailing 

81 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

search  for  a  publisher,  I  quit  trying  to  be 
an  author.  Then  I  went  out  into  the 
world  and  gathered  experience  as  a 
preacher,  railroad  man,  farmer,  soldier, 
what  not.  But  I  didn't  try  writing  again 
until  1898.  Then  I  naturally  turned  to 
history  for  inspiration,  for  ever  since  my 
days  at  the  Naval  Academy  I  have  read 
all  the  history,  American  and  foreign,  that 
I  could  lay  hands  on.  Perhaps  I  seem  to 
turn  out  books  fast  because  I  have  a  good 
deal  of  untouched  experience  and  many 
years  of  historical  reading  to  draw  on." 

Doctor  Holmes  called  his  friend  Doctor 
Hale  "  the  human  dynamo."  The  term 
would  not  adequately  express  Mr.  Brady's 
capacity  for  work.  It  is  related  that  in 
nine  months  of  the  year  1902  Mr.  Brady 
wrote  "  Woven  with  the  Ship,"  a  forty 
thousand  word  story ;  "  The  Southerners," 
a  one  hundred  thousand  word  novel ;  "  Bor- 
82 


CYRUS    TOWNSEISTD    BRADY 

der  Eights  and  Fighters/'  another  work 
of  the  same  length ;  "  In  the  Wasp's 
Nest,"  an  eighty  thousand  word  juvenile; 
several  short  tales  aggregating  forty  thou- 
sand words;  eighteen  book  reviews  (two 
each  month),  containing  in  all  thirty-six 
thousand  words ;  thirty  sermons,  averaging 
1,250  words  each,  for  a  Sunday  paper; 
and,  besides  all  this,  he  revised  "  Hohenzol- 
lern,"  a  forty  thousand  word  historical  ro- 
mance, and  carried  that  story  and  "  The 
Quilberon  Touch  "  and  "  Colonial  Fights 
and  Fighters  "  through  the  press.  ~Nor  is 
that  all.  In  odd  hours  he  attended  person- 
ally to  a  large  correspondence,  kept  his 
cash-book  in  order  (a  common  employment 
among  successful  authors,  who,  on  the 
whole,  are  a  thrifty  and  far-reaching  lot), 
and  preached  twice  every  Sunday. 

Perhaps  the  only  thing  to  say  is  that 
Mr.  Brady  is  the  Andrew  Lang  of  America. 

83 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

Marian  Crawford  is  wont  to  sit  down  at  his 
desk  day  after  day  and  write  with  his  own 
hand  five  thousand  words ;  but  Mr.  Craw- 
ford is  content  to  give  out  two  novels  a 
year.  Indeed,  as  a  mere  producer  of  words, 
Mr.  Brady  exemplifies  the  old  sign :  "I 
lead.  Let  those  who  can  follow."  Perhaps 
it  would  be  safe  to  call  him  a  literary  som- 
nambulist. 

Mr.  Brady  is  a  disciple  of  the  strenuous 
life.  He  was  born  in  Allegheny,  Pennsyl- 
vania, December  20,  1861,  the  year  of  the 
beginning  of  the  most  strenuous  time  the 
country  has  ever  had.  Astrologists,  no 
doubt,  would  be  able  to  make  some  interest- 
ing deductions  from  that  fact.  When  he 
was  ten  years  old  he  went  to  Kansas  to  live. 

Toward  the  end  of  his  regular  schooling 

he  developed  what  seemed  a  strong  taste 

for  sea  life,  and  he  was  fortunate  enough, 

while  seeking  to  gratify  this  taste,  to  win 

84 


CYKUS    TOWNSEND    BRADY 

an  appointment  to  the  Naval  Academy 
(September,  1879),  from  which  practical 
and  patriotic  institution  he  was  graduated 
when  he  was  twenty-one.  It  is  a  rather 
odd  circumstance  that  two  of  the  most 
popular  novelists  of  the  day  in  America 
should  be  graduates  of  the  Naval  Academy. 
The  other  novelist  is  Winston  Churchill. 

Four  months  after  graduation  Mr. 
Brady  found  that  his  passion  for  the  sea 
had  somewhat  abated ;  and  about  the  time 
of  this  important  discovery  came  the  ambi- 
tion to  shine  in  literature. 

The  story  of  the  early  smothering  of  this 
ambition  has  been  told  by  the  author  him- 
self in  the  first  part  of  this  sketch;  but 
the  story  invites  the  comment  that  Mr. 
Brady  would  probably  have  shone  in  liter- 
ature much  sooner  than  he  did  if  only  he 
had  shut  the  door  in  the  face  of  discour- 
agement. He  quit  trying  to  be  an  author 

85 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

perhaps  on  the  very  eve  of  success.  It  took 
him  fifteen  years  to  make  the  single  step, 
and  all  for  the  reason,  apparently,  of  the 
proper  stimulant.  Men  like  Bishop  Whit- 
aker  unconsciously  serve  great  purposes. 

For  several  years  Brady  knocked  about 
the  West,  in  the  employ  of  the  Missouri 
Pacific  and  the  Union  Pacific  railroads; 
and  his  next  step  was  the  study  of  theology 
under  Bishop  Worthington  of  Nebraska. 
He  was  ordained  a  deacon  in  1889  and 
a  priest  in  the  following  year.  Being 
sturdy  and  enthusiastic  by  nature,  he 
quickly  went  into  prominence.  Between 
the  years  1890  and  1895  he  was  rector  of 
churches  (Protestant  Episcopal)  in  Mis- 
souri and  Colorado,  and  archdeacon  of 
Kansas.  In  1895  he  returned  to  his  na- 
tive state  as  archdeacon,  and  four  years 
afterward  he  took  the  rectorship  of  St. 
Paul's  Church,  Overbrook,  Philadelphia, 
86 


CYKUS    TOWNSEND    BEADY 

from  which  he  not  long  ago  resigned  in 
order  to  save  himself  from  overwork. 

It  was,  then,  during  his  service  as  arch- 
deacon of  the  Episcopal  Church  in  Penn- 
sylvania that  he  first  thought  of  writing  a 
book. 

This  book,  "  For  Love  of  Country,"  was 
a  story  of  the  American  Eevolution,  spir- 
ited, romantic,  and  patriotic.  There  was 
just  about  enough  of  good  things  in  it  — 
of  pictures  of  society,  and  of  descriptions 
of  war  afield  and  afloat.  That  story  is 
typical  of  every  one  of  Mr.  Brady's  stories, 
inasmuch  as  it  has  sweet  sentiment  and  fine 
action  and  sufficient  fidelity  to  the  facts  of 
history. 

"For  Love  of  Honour," which  was  fairly 
successful,  had  prompt  successors  in  "  For 
the  Freedom  of  the  Sea,"  and  "  The  Grip 
of  Honour,"  the  first  a  romance  of  the  War 
of  1812  and  the  second  a  romance  culmi- 

87 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

nating  in  the  immortal  victory  of  John 
Paul  Jones  and  his  Bon  Homme  Rich- 
ard. 

"  The  Grip  of  Honour  "  was  published 
in  1899.  In  the  following  year  Mr.  Brady's 
fertility,  or  industry,  as  you  please,  began 
to  attract  the  notice  of  book  lovers.  In 
1900  five  books  of  his  were  sent  to  the 
market,  "  Stephen  Decatur,"  "  Recollec- 
tions of  a  Missionary  in  the  Great  West," 
''  American  Fights  and  Fighters,"  "  Com- 
modore Paul  Jones,"  and  "  Reuben  James, 
a  Hero  of  the  Forecastle."  The  next  year 
brought  five  books  by  him,  "  When  Blades 
Are  Out  and  Love's  Afield,"  "Under 
Tops'ls  and  Tents,"  "  An  Apostle  of  the 
Plains,"  "  Colonial  Fights  and  Fighters," 
and  "  Under  the  Ban  of  the  Red-Beard." 
The  chief  part  of  the  work  which  the  cler- 
ical romancist  and  biographer  did  last  year 
has  already  been  noted.  His  latest  novel, 
88 


CYKUS    TOWNSEND    BKADY 

"  The  Southerners/'  is  by  no  means  an 
extraordinary  volume  in  the  great  Civil 
War  library.  For  one  thing,  it  shows  signs 
of  the  author's  mental  fatigue. 

"  Under  Tops'ls  and  Tents  "  is  one  of 
the  works  of  Mr.  Brady  which  has  been 
scantily  appreciated.  As  a  chronicle  of 
days  spent  at  the  Naval  Academy  it  is  ex- 
traordinarily interesting,  falling  as  it  does 
into  the  happy  medium  between  frivolities 
and  technicalities.  As  a  mirror  of  life  in 
camp  during  the  Spanish  War  it  is  small, 
but  vividly  true.  Although  all  the  works 
of  Mr.  Brady  are  more  or  less  reflective  of 
his  personality,  still  "  Under  Tops'ls  and 
Tents  "  is  so  striking  a  reflection  that  it 
deserves  to  be  classified  by  itself.  It  shows 
us  a  man  with  well-trained  faculties  of  ob- 
servation, with  a  wholesome,  light-hearted 
manner,  with  sympathetic  impulses,  and 
with  an  ample,  fluent  power  of  expression. 

89 


LITTLE     PILGEIMAGES 

There  are  no  frills,  obviously,  about  the 
man;  and  there  are  none,  surely,  about 
the  writer.  He  is  no  word-painter,  no 
sleight-of-hand  artist.  To  use  a  figure 
which  has  already  been  introduced,  he  sim- 
ply holds  the  mirror  up  to  nature.  His  art 
is  simplicity  itself;  and  the  effect  is  all 
the  more  thrilling  when  the  mirror  reveals 
the  drama  in  its  barest  details.  So  barely 
and  simply  was  Shakespeare  presented 
originally,  and  previous  to  the  domination 
of  the  stage-manager. 

There  is  a  good  example  of  this  in  that 

very  book,   "Under  Tops'ls  and  Tents." 

• 
Two  young  officers,  one  engaged  to  a  young 

lady  who  regards  him  indifferently,  and 
the  other  in  love  with  her  and  gradually 
winning  her  love,  are  assigned  to  a  ship 
which  goes  ashore  off  Hatteras  in  a  gale. 
The  ship  breaks  up,  and  the  two  rivals,  one 
now  doubting  the  young  lady's  loyalty 
90 


CYKUS    TOWNSEND    BRADY 

(for  he  had  seen  a  letter  in  her  handwrit- 
ing addressed  to  his  fellow  officer),  and  the 
other  now  sure  of  her  affection,  find  them- 
selves clinging  to  the  forecastle.  We  read : 

"...  Toward  morning  Powell  (the 
one  who  was  engaged  to  the  young  lady), 
endeavouring  to  move  to  a  higher  portion 
of  the  forecastle,  slipped  and  fell  into  the 
sea.  He  seemed  to  have  hit  a  piece  of  the 
wreck  as  he  reached  the  water,  for,  al- 
though he  was  a  fine  swimmer,  he  struck 
out  but  feebly.  Throwing  aside  the  blanket 
in  which  he  was  wrapped,  Tyler  (the  one 
who  had  received  the  loving  letter)  in- 
stantly leaped  into  the  sea  after  him. 

"  He  was  by  his  side  in  a  moment  and 
caught  him  by  the  arm  to  support  him. 
A  small  life-buoy,  by  happy  chance,  was 
floating  close  at  hand,  and  Tyler,  guiding 
his  companion  toward  it,  placed  his  hand 
upon  it.  The  water  had  revived  Powell, 

91 


LITTLE    PILGBIMAGES 

and  presently  he  came  to  himself.  As  he 
did  so,  he  realized  what  had  happened. 
His  friend  had  saved  him.  Tyler  was 
swimming  alongside  of  him,  and  the  cur- 
rent was  apparently  carrying  them  out  to 
sea.  He  was  desperately  injured  and  un- 
able to  swim.  They  were  already  far 
away  from  the  wreck. 

"  '  Thank  you,  old  man/  he  whispered. 

"'It's  all  right,'  answered  Tyler,  briefly, 
both  men  saving  their  breath  for  the  strug- 
gle before  them.  They  drifted  on  in  the 
gray  darkness  for  awhile,  until  Powell 
broke  the  silence  again. 

"  '  We  are  going  out  to  sea.' 

"  '  Yes.' 

"  e  You  are  nearly  used  up,'  he  added, 
looking  at  his  friend  swimming  at  his  side. 

" '  Oh,  I'm  all  right,'  answered  Tyler, 
shortly. 


92 


CYEUS    TOWNSEKD    BRADY 

" '  Take  hold  of  this  life-buoy,'  said 
Powell,  presently. 

"  '  It  won't  hold  two,  you  keep  it.  I  can 
swim.7  There  was  another  pause.  Tyler 
was  striving  with  fast-waning  strength  to 
keep  afloat  and  to  resist  the  horrible  temp- 
tation to  clutch  the  life-buoy  at  all  haz- 
ards. 

"'George/  said  Powell,  at  last,  *  it 
seems  to  me  that  we  are  both  done  for. 
Tell  me,  in  the  presence  of  death  and  for 
God's  sake,  tell  me  true,  that  letter  — 
Mabel  —  she  loves  you  ? ' 

"  Tyler  hesitated.  He  was  very  faint 
and  exhausted  from  the  continued  exertion 
of  his  long  swim,  after  the  heart-breaking 
experiences  of  the  night.  He  would  have 
given  the  world  not  to  tell,  but  he  lacked 
strength  to  refuse,  and  in  that  hour  when 
both  looked  death  in  the  face  there  was 
room  for  nothing  but  the  truth. 

93 


LITTLE     PILGBIMAGES 

"  '  Tell  me  the  truth,  if  you  love  me, 
old  man,'  continued  Powell. 

" '  Yes,'  panted  Tyler,  white-faced  and 
struggling,  '  she  loves  me.  My  fault  —  I 
could  not  help  it.  Forgive  her.' 

"  '  It's  all  right,'  answered  Powell.  '  She 
could  not  help  it,  either.  I  forgive  you 
both.  She's  got  the  better  man.  Tell  her 
I  loved  her  to  the  end.' 

"  '  What  are  you  doing  ? '  cried  Tyler, 
excitement  and  wonder  supplementing  his 
failing  strength. 

"  '  One  must  go.  I'm  done  for,  anyway. 
Good-bye.  Take  the  buoy.'  Powell  gave 
it  a  gentle  shove  toward  his  exhausted 
companion.  He  threw  up  his  hands,  smil- 
ing gently,  and  sank  beneath  the  sea. 

"With  the   instinct  of  the   drowning, 

Tyler  clung  to  the  buoy,  peering  down  into 

the  blackness  with  straining  eyes  as  if  to 

pierce  the  very  depths  of  the  water  for 

94 


CYBUS    TOWNSEND    BKADY 

another  sight  of  his  lost  companion.  Pow- 
ell did  not  rise  to  the  surface. 

"  An  hour  after  a  turn  of  the  current 
washed  Tyler  to  the  shore.  He  crawled  up 
on  the  sand  and  lay  there  panting  and 
exhausted.  When  morning  broke  he 
started  down  the  beach  seeking  assistance 
and  looking  for  his  comrades.  There  were 
but  four  officers  and  a  few  men  saved  from 
the  wreck.  These  he  gathered  up  as  he 
walked  along.  As  near  as  he  could  judge, 
opposite  the  place  where  Powell  had  given 
him  the  life-buoy,  he  found  his  body  lying 
face  downward  in  the  sand,  cast  there  by 
the  tide  or  the  current.  When  they  turned 
him  over,  Tyler  saw  that  his  lips  were  set 
in  the  same  smile  that  they  had  worn  when 
he  had  sunk  into  the  sea." 

As  a  critic  remarked  some  years  ago, 
there  is  an  honest  manliness  about  Mr. 
Brady's  work  that  compels  admiration. 

95 


LITTLE     PILGEIMAGES 

Brady  the  man  and  Brady  the  writer  are 
inseparable.  In  1898  he  was  appointed 
captain  and  chaplain  in  the  First  Pennsyl- 
vania regiment  of  volunteers ;  and  though 
he  saw  no  fighting,  he  served  his  country 
faithfully.  ~Not  all  the  patriots  reach  the 
front  in  any  war.  However,  his  service 
gave  him  the  opportunity  to  be  one  of  the 
few  men  who  have  served  the  nation  in 
both  the  army  and  navy.  Adding  this 
service  to  what  he  has  done  as  a  railroad 
man,  as  a  churchman,  and  as  an  author, 
it  must  be  admitted  that  in  his  forty- 
one  years  Mr.  Brady  has  well  exemplified 
the  best  side  of  the  strenuous  life. 


96 


ROBERT    WILLIAM    CHAMBERS. 


ROBERT      WILLIAM      CHAMBERS 


a  little  New  York 
town,  lying  between  the  Mohawk 
Valley  and  the  Adirondacks,  is  the 
ancestral  home  of  the  Chambers  family. 
There,  for  the  last  five  years,  Robert  Will- 
iam Chambers,  author,  has  fished  and 
hunted  and  written.  There,  afar  from  the 
madding  crowd,  indulging  himself  with 
such  fine  but  simple  pleasures  as  the  coun- 
try affords,  he  lives  his  modest,  fruitful, 
remarkable  life. 

It  is  a  remarkable  life,  considering  only 
what  he  has  done;  for  he  was  born  in 
Brooklyn  only  thirty-eight  years  ago  —  on 
May  26,  1865.  Some  youths  have  done 
much  more  than  he,  but  few  have  done  so 
well. 

97 


LITTLE    PILGEI MAGES 

His  father  was  William  P.  Chambers, 
who  won  considerable  distinction  as  a  law- 
yer and  as  a  jurist;  who  was  one  of  the 
founders  of  the  Century  Club,  and  who  for 
years  was  the  intimate  friend  of  President 
Arthur.  Robert  was  born  a  year  before 
Walter  Boughton,  his  brother,  a  well- 
known  New  York  architect. 

In  his  childhood  Robert  formed  the  out- 
door habit.  It  is  a  habit  that  all  children 
lean  to,  but  in  Robert  it  was  wisely  per- 
mitted to  develop.  In  fact,  he  spent  so 
much  of  his  boyhood  time  in  wood  and 
field,  on  lake  and  river,  that  at  one  period 
he  had  the  desire  to  be  a  naturalist.  To 
be  particular,  he  was  drawn  by  entomology. 
Readers  who  remember  the  entomological 
chapter  in  "  The  Cambric  Mask "  will 
readily  believe  this. 

"He  confesses,"  says  one  of  his  biog- 
raphers, "that  even  to  this  day  he  can't 
98 


KOBEET      WILLIAM      CHAMBEES 

see  a  collection  of  butterflies  and  moths 
without  an  indefinable  ache.  Ask  him 
about  his  books  and  he  will  tell  you  about 
a  rare  swallow-tailed  butterfly  he  discov- 
ered down  South  last  month,  a  butterfly 
not  recorded  by  American  entomologists. 
Ask  him  about  his  methods  of  working  and 
he'll  talk  about  trout-fishing.  Ask  him 
about  himself  and  you'll  get  information 
about  army  uniforms." 

We  have  put  our  head  out  of  the  wiridow 
and  looked  up  the  track,  but  no  harm  has 
been  done,  for  Mr.  Chambers  is  more  versa- 
tile than  you  dream  of  even  now. 

However,  when  he  grew  up  he  discov- 
ered a  fondness  for  art,  and  to  satisfy  it  he 
went  to  Paris  in  1886,  after  having,  as  he 
puts  it,  "  fooled  around  a  year  at  the  Art 
League."  He  studied  at  the  ficole  des 
Beaux  Arts,  at  Julien's  Academy,  with 
Benjamin  Constant,  the  celebrated  portrait 

99 


LITTLE     PILGKIMAGES 

painter,  and  with  other  noted  teachers. 
He  was  represented  in  the  salon  of  1889 
by  a  "  black-and-white  picture  of  three 
bulldogs,  and  —  and  something  else  "  — 
so  he  says.  During  the  salon  he  had  a  re- 
lapse into  his  old  habits,  and  instead  of 
standing  near  his  pictures  with  ears  eager 
for  praise,  as  we  have  been  told  is  the  prac- 
tice of  young  artists,  he  went  off  fishing 
for  trout. 

But  while  abroad  he  did  more  than  paint 
and  fish.  We  have  his  early  stories  — 
some  of  his  best  stories  —  to  prove  that 
he  became  pretty  familiar  with  foreign 
history  and  foreign  tradition  and  foreign 
life.  He  was  always,  we  must  believe, 
wide-awake  and  imaginative. 

He  returned  to  America  in  1893  still 
unsettled  in  mind.  He  had  learned  some- 
thing of  art,  and  he  was  prepared  to  earn 
his  living  by  it;  so  he  did  some  illustrat- 
100 


EOBEKT      WILLIAM      CHAMBEKS 

ing  for  the  popular  periodicals.  But  he 
also  had  begun  to  try  his  pen  with  stories. 

That  same  year  of  his  return,  1893,  saw 
the  publication  of  "  In  the  Quarter  "  and 
of  "  The  King  in  Yellow." 

"  In  the  Quarter "  he  had  written  in 
1887,  "  just  for  fun  and  without  any- 
thought  of  publication."  It  made  no 
especial  stir;  and  he  has  been  quoted  as 
saying  that  he  thought  little  of  it  himself. 
But  it  was  different  with  "  The  King  in 
Yellow."  The  fact  is,  this  book  of  short 
stories  was  one  of  the  literary  phenomenons 
of  ten  years  ago. 

In  an  article  published  some  years  later 
in  The  Overland  Monthly,  Mr.  Duffield 
Osborne  said  of  these  first  short  stories 
that  "  nothing  more  weirdly  imaginative, 
nothing  finer  in  sentiment,  nothing  more 
finished  in  execution,  and  nothing  more 
absorbing  in  interest "  could  be  found. 

101 


LITTLE     PILGKIMAGES 

"  At  times,"  he  declared,  "  it  has  seemed 
to  me  as  if  Poe  had  come  back  to  life ;  but 
Poe  with  an  added  lightness  of  touch  and 
shading,  Poe  with  a  newly  developed  sense 
of  humour." 

If  this  had  been  said  in  1893  it  might 
fairly  have  been  regarded  as  extravagant ; 
but  it  was  a  judgment  passed  in  the  cool 
of  after  years.  Moreover,  Mr.  William 
Sharp,  a  none  too  friendly,  or  rather  a  char- 
acteristically insular  English  critic,  took 
very  nearly  the  same  position  in  an  article 
published  in  18 97  in  the  London  Academy. 
"  When  '  The  King  in  Yellow '  appeared," 
he  said,  "  critics  and  readers  were  puzzled. 
Here  was  a  new  writer  with  an  imagina- 
tion in  fantasy  as  strange  and  vivid  as  that 
of  Stevenson  in  his  new  c  New  Arabian 
Nights/  though  more  sombre  in  quality; 
so  touched,  indeed,  with  the  contagion  of 
horror  akin  to  madness  that  one  instinc- 
102 


EOBEET      WILLIAM      CHAMBEKS 

tively  wondered  if  the  author  of  '  The  Fall 
of  the  House  of  Usher'  were  reincarnate 
in  this  new  discoverer  of  '  The  Grotesque 
and  the  Arabesque.7  In  '  The  King  in 
Yellow '  the  three  most  distinctive  stories 
are  those  which,  collectively,  might  bear 
that  title:  '  The  Repairer  of  Reputations/ 
'  The  Court  of  the  Dragon/  and  '  The  Yel- 
low Sign.'  The  first  is  most  remarkable. 
To  use  a  commonplace,  no  one  who  has 
read  this  wild  fantasy  is  likely  ever  to 
forget  it.  True,  it  is,  after  all,  merely 
the  uncontrolled  imaginings  of  a  madman, 
one  Hildred  Castaigne,  but  there  is  method 
with  a  vengeance.  '  The  Repairer  of 
Reputations  '  is,  in  its  opening  pages,  as  in 
its  title,  eminently  Stevensonian.  Later, 
as  also  in  '  The  Yellow  Sign/  one  is  re- 
minded more  of  Poe  in  his  most  morbid 
tales  of  horror.  In  one  and  all,  however, 
Mr.  Chambers  is  no  imitator.  Here  he 

103 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

is  akin  to  the  two  great  writers  alluded  to, 
and  not  merely  a  self -trained  follower." 

Small  wonder  that  since  1893  the  author 
of  "  The  King  in  Yellow  "  has  made  liter- 
ature his  business  and  left  art  behind.  To 
have  it  said  of  one  that  he  has  written  some 
of  the  best  short  stories  in  the  English 
language  must  seem  to  be  sufficient  excuse 
to  turn  from  doubtful  pictures  to  certain 
letters. 

After  "  The  King  in  Yellow  "  came  in 
quick  succession  "  The  Eed  Kepublic  "  and 
"A  King  and  a  Few  Dukes"  (1894); 
"  The  Maker  of  Moons  "  and  "  With  the 
Band"  (1895);  "Oliver  Locke;  the 
Mystery  of  Choice "  and  "  Lorraine " 
(1896);  "Ashes  of  Empire"  (1897); 
"The  Haunts  of  Men"  (1898);  "The 
Cambric  Mask"  (1899);  and  "Out- 
siders "  (1899)  ;  "  The  Conspirators " 
(1900);  "Cardigan"  (1901);  and 
104 


EOBEKT      WILLIAM      CHAMBEKS 

"  The  Maid-at-Arms  "  (1902).  Another 
event  besides  the  publication  of  "  The 
Haunts  of  Men  "  marked  the  year  1898  for 
him,  and  that  was  his  marriage  to  Elsa 
Vaughan  Moler. 

"  Cardigan  "  and  "  The  Maid-at-Arms  " 
are  two  parts  of  a  series  of  novels  deal- 
ing with  the  American  Revolution.  These 
first  novels  are  of  the  country  in  which  the 
author  lives  —  New  York,  the  bloodiest 
stage  of  the  Revolutionary  drama. 

"  Mr.  Chambers,"  says  a  sketch  that  ap- 
peared in  Harper's  Weekly  two  years  ago, 
"  knows  every  stream  and  every  bit  of 
covert  in  the  vicinity  of  Broadalbin,  and 
it  was  perfectly  natural  that,  in  laying  the 
plans  for  a  series  of  novels  which  should 
constitute  the  history  of  the  American 
Revolution,  he  should  turn  to  the  history 
close  at  hand  and  begin  with  the  fine  figure 
of  Sir  William  Johnson  and  the  events  that 

105 


LITTLE     PILGEIMAGES 

led  up  to  tne  outbreak  of  hostilities  in  1775. 
Thus  there  is  something  interesting  and 
intimate  in  finding  in  the  first  chapters  of 
'  Cardigan '  the  author  laying  before  the 
reader  Sir  William  Johnson's  home  at 
Johnstown ;  in  following  young  Cardigan 
and  '  Silver  Heels/  the  hero  and  heroine 
of  the  story  —  children  being  educated  by 
Sir  William  —  going  a-fishing  on  the  Ken- 
nyetto,  in  recognizing  spots  on  the  stream 
where  fishing  bouts  between  Sir  William 
and  the  young  people  took  place,  and  in 
realizing  that  the  author  of  (  Cardigan ' 
himself,  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  later, 
has  fished  in  every  pool  of  the  same  stream. 
It  is  interesting  to  find  in  Johnstown  the 
house  where  the  fight  that  was  one  of  the 
most  interesting  episodes  of  '  Cardigan ' 
took  place." 

Then,  too,  no  one  but  an  intimate  friend 
and  tender  lover  of  nature,  no  one  but  a 
106 


ROBEET      WILLIAM      CHAMBEES 

student  of  the  glades  and  woods  of  the 
country  of  the  Mohawks  and  of  "  calm 
and  imperturbable  "  Schuyler,  could  have 
produced  this  fragrant,  refreshing  scene, 
in  which  the  hero  of  "  The  Maid-at-Arms  " 
is  the  chief  figure: 

"  I  remember  it  was  the  last  day  of  May 
before  I  saw  my  cousin  Dorothy  again. 

"  Late  that  afternoon  I  had  taken  a 
fishing-rod  and  a  book,  '  The  Poems  of 
Pansard,'  and  had  set  out  for  the  grist-mill 
on  the  stream  below  the  log-bridge;  but 
did  not  go  by  road,  as  the  dust  was  deep, 
so  instead  crossed  the  meadow  and  entered 
the  cool  thicket,  making  a  shorter  route  to 
the  stream. 

"  Through  the  woodland,  as  I  passed,  I 
saw  violets  in  hollows  and  blue  innocence 
starring  moist  glades  with  its  heavenly 
colour,  and  in  the  drier  woods  those 

107 


LITTLE     PILGRIMAGES 

slender-stemmed    blue    bell-flowers    which 
some  call  the  Venus's  looking-glass. 

"  In  my  saddened  and  rebellious  heart 
a  more  innocent  passion  stirred  and  awoke 
—  the  tender  pleasure  I  have  always  found 
in  seeking  out  those  shy  people  of  the  for- 
est, the  wild  blossoms  —  a  harmless  pleas- 
ure, for  it  is  ever  my  habit  to  leave  them 
undisturbed  upon  their  stalks. 

"  Deeper  in  the  forest  pink  mocassin- 
flowers  bloomed  among  the  rocks,  and  the 
air  was  tinctured  with  a  honeyed  smell 
from  the  spiked  orchis  cradled  in  its  shel- 
tering leaf  under  the  hemlock  shade. 

"  Once,  as  I  crossed  a  marshy  place, 
about  me  floated  a  violet  perfume^  and  I 
was  at  loss  to  find  its  source  until  I  espied 
a  single  purple  blossom  of  the  Arethusa 
bedded  in  sturdy  thickets  of  rose-azalea, 
faintly  spicy,  and  all  humming  with  the 
wings  of  plundering  bees. 
108 


ROBERT      WILLIAM      CHAMBERS 

"  Underfoot  my  shoes  brushed  through 
spikenard,  and  fell  silently  on  carpets  of 
moss-pinks,  and  once  I  saw  a  matted  bed 
of  late  Mayflower,  and  the  forest  dusk 
grew  sweeter  and  sweeter,  saturating  all 
the  woodland,  until  each  breath  I  drew 
seemed  to  intoxicate. 

"  Spring  languor  was  in  earth  and  sky, 
and  in  my  bones,  too;  yet,  through  this 
Northern  forest  ever  and  anon  came  faint 
reminders  of  receding  snows,  melting 
beyond  the  Canadas  —  delicate  zephyrs, 
tinctured  with  the  far  scent  of  frost,  fla- 
vouring the  sun's  balm  at  moments  with  a 
sharper  essence. 

"  Now,  traversing  a  ferny  space  edged  in 
with  sweetbrier,  a  breeze  accompanied  me, 
caressing  neck  and  hair,  stirring  a  sudden 
warmth  upon  my  cheek  like  a  breathless 
maid  close  beside  me,  whispering." 

Whatever  be  the  comparative  merits  of 

109 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

the  various  kinds  of  fiction,  these  later  his- 
torical romances  by  Mr.  Chambers  are  by 
all  means  worthy  of  longevity.  The  author 
has  written  with  a  clear  vision  of  Revolu- 
tionary times;  he  sees  the  things  as  they 
were;  he  instinctively  seems  to  have  felt 
the  very  motives  that  tugged  at  the  hearts 
of  the  leading  figures  on  both  sides  of  the 
short  but  furious  struggle.  No  romancist 
has  ever  drawn  more  vivid  pictures  of  the 
hatred  and  the  glory  of  battle;  no  his- 
torian has  paid  stricter  attention  to  de- 
tails. Besides,  no  one  has  written  more 
frankly,  with  such  dispassionate  fidelity  to 
truth  and  at  the  same  time  with  such  spir- 
ited appreciation  of  grand  and  loving 
deeds,  as  this  retiring  young  man  of 
Broadalbin.  "  No,  there  is  no  illusion 
for  us,"  he  remarks ;  "  no  splendid  armies, 
banner-laden,  passing  through  unbroken 
triumphs  across  the  sunset's  glory;  no 
110 


ROBERT      WILLIAM      CHAMBERS 

winged  victory,  with  smooth,  brow  laurelled 
to  teach  us  to  forget  the  holocaust.  Neither 
can  we  veil  our  history,  nor  soften  our 
legends.  Romance  alone  can  justify  ar 
theme  inspired  by  truth;  for  romance  is 
more  vital  than  history,  which,  after  all, 
is  but  the  fleshless  skeleton  of  romance." 

Mr.  Chambers's  love  for  outdoor  life  fur- 
nishes him  with  recreation  from  the  drudg- 
ery of  the  writing-table.  He  and  his  dogs 
are  a  familiar  sight  around  Broadalbin. 
He  does  most  of  his  writing  at  night. 

"  Those  who  know  Robert  W.  Chambers 
intimately,"  says  one  writer,  "  testify  with 
a  good  deal  of  enthusiasm  to  his  solid  char- 
acter. .  .  .  Doubtless  he  didn't  know  it, 
but  he  drew  what  seems  to  be  in  its  main 
lines  a  first-rate  picture  of  himself  in 
Stephen  Steen,  who  was  the  chief  character 
in  f  A  King  and  a  Few  Dukes.'  He  might 
easily  be  set  down  at  first  acquaintance  as 

111 


LITTLE     PILGEIMAGES 

a  dilettante,  who  did  not  take  himself  or 
his  work  seriously." 

So  much  for  appearances.  Assuredly 
Mr.  Chambers  should  take  himself  and  his 
work  seriously,  and  we  believe  that  he 
does;  for  the  books  bearing  his  name  are 
a  distinct  credit  to  American  literature. 


112 


THOMAS    DIXON,    JR. 


THOMAS     DIXON,     JE. 


LEOPAKD'S  SPOTS,"  by 

Thomas  Dixon,  Jr.,  which 
Doubleday,  Page  &  Co.  pub- 
lished in  March,  1902,  is  by  all  odds  the 
most  remarkable  of  the  many  recent  suc- 
cessful first  novels.  Until  lately  a  success- 
ful first  novel  was  a  rarity;  now  it  is 
almost  a  commonplace.  "  The  Helmet  of 
Navarre,"  "When  Knighthood  Was  in 
Mower,"  "  Eben  Holden,"  "  Graustark," 
"  The  Spenders,"  "  The  Spoilsmen  "  —  all 
these  are  first  novels,  and  successes.  "  The 
Leopard's  Spots,"  though  not  so  popular  as 
some  of  them,  is  the  most  remarkable  of 
all.  Max  Nordau  says  that  it  has  deliber- 
ately undone  the  work  of  Harriet  Beecher 
Stowe.  At  least,  it  may  fairly  be  regarded 

113 


LITTLE     PILGEIMAGES 

as  the  South's  long-deferred  answer  to 
"  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin."  In  the  twelve- 
month following  its  publication  one  hun- 
dred thousand  copies  were  sold. 

In  "  The  Leopard's  Spots  "  is  met  again 
the  same  infamous  Legree  whom  Mrs. 
Stowe  depicted ;  but  now,  instead  of  hold- 
ing slaves  and  beating  some  to  death,  he  is 
a  "  truly  loyal "  Southern,  inciting  the 
negroes  to  demand  their  full  share  of  the 
privileges  of  citizenship,  and  taking  first 
pick  of  the  spoils.  George  Harris,  the  only 
educated  negro  in  the  tale,  is  represented 
to  be  the  son  of  Eliza  Harris,  who  escaped 
from  a  slave  pen,  and,  with  her  child  in  her 
arms,  fled  across  the  ice-choked  Ohio  with 
hounds  baying  in  her  trail. 

Strictly  speaking,  "  The  Leopard's 
Spots "  is  not  so  much  an  answer  as  a 
sequel  to  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin."  By  por- 
traying its  abuses,  Mrs.  Stowe  dealt  slav- 
114 


THOMAS     DIXON,     JK. 

ery  a  blow  from  which  it  never  recovered. 
That  slavery  cloaked  fearful  abuses  no 
Southerner  —  not  even  Mr.  Dixon  himself 
—  denies,  or  could  honestly  deny.  But 
"  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  "  did  not  look  for- 
ward to  the  consequences  of  the  emancipa- 
tion of  the  negro;  and  that  these  conse- 
quences are  troublesome,  and  often  fearful, 
no  Northerner  —  not  even  one  of  Garri- 
son's sons  —  could  honestly  deny.  The  re- 
lation between  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  "  and 
"  The  Leopard's  Spots,"  therefore,  is  sim- 
ply local.  Mrs.  Stowe  was  not  responsible 
for  the  scalawags  who  took  possession  of 
the  South  after  the  war;  nor  was  Mr. 
Dixon  responsible  for  the  abuses  inflicted 
upon  helpless  and  innocent  negroes,  both 
male  and  female,  before  the  war. 

But,  after  all  has  been  said,  the  negro 
problem  still  remains;  and  this  is  the 
problem  which  the  Virginia  novelist  begs 

115 


LITTLE    PILGBIMAGES 

his  readers  to  consider.  "  Can  the  Ethi- 
opian change  his  skin  or  the  leopard  his 
spots  ?  "  Can  the  thoughtful  white  man 
ever  admit  the  negro  to  full  social  and  po- 
litical equality  ?  Possibly  some  Northern- 
ers would  vote  for  a  negro  of  Dr.  Booker  T. 
Washington's  stamp  for  President  of  the 
United  States.  Mr.  Roosevelt  has  had 
Doctor  Washington  at  dinner  in  the  White 
House.  But  would  the  most  sympathetic 
Northern  negromaniac,  a  refined,  aristo- 
cratic white  man,  encourage  and  permit  a 
negro  to  marry  into  his  family  ? 

The  substance  of  Mr.  Dixon's  argument, 
which  repudiates  the  idea  that  absolute 
equality  between  Caucasian  and  Ethiopian 
exists  in  the  United  States,  lies  in  the  chap- 
ter entitled  "  Equality  with  a  Reserva- 
tion." The  Honourable  Everett  Lowell,  a 
Boston  statesman,  has  made  a  powerful 
speech  at  the  Cooper  Union,  New  York,  in 
116 


THOMAS    PIXON,    JR. 

denunciation  of  an  atrocious  lynching  con- 
sequent upon  an  atrocious  assault,  and 
George  Harris,  his  negro  protege,  a  poet,  a 
scholar,  Harvard  graduate,  a  gentleman  of 
his  kind,  has  heard  him  with  gratitude  and 
admiration  —  has  heard  him  demand  "per- 
fect equality  "  —  and  has  thereby  been  em- 
boldened to  ask  for  the  hand  of  Miss  Helen, 
Lowell's  daughter. 

"  Harris,"  says  Lowell,  furiously,  when 
the  negro  declares  his  love,  "  this  is  crazy 
nonsense.  Such  an  idea  is  preposterous. 
I  am  amazed  that  it  should  ever  have  en- 
tered your  head.  Let  this  be  an  end  of  it 
here  and  now,  if  you  have  any  desire  to 
retain  my  friendship." 

Harris,  stunned  by  this  swift  blow  in 
his  very  teeth,  protests  that  he,  like  Lowell, 
is  a  Harvard  graduate,  and  that  they  are 
equals  in  culture. 

"  Granted,"  says  Lowell.  "  Nevertheless 

117 


LITTLE    PILGRIMAGES 

you  are  a  negro,  and  I  do  not  desire  the 
infusion  of  your  blood  in  my  family." 

"  But  I  have  more  of  white  than  negro 
blood,  sir." 

"  So  much  the  worse.  It  is  the  mark  of 
shame." 

"  But  it  is  the  one  drop  of  negro  blood 
at  which  your  taste  revolts,  is  it  not  ? " 

"  To  be  frank,  it  is." 

Lowell  admits  their  political  equality. 

"  Politics  is  but  a  secondary  phenomena 
of  society.  You  said  absolute  equality," 
protests  Harris. 

"  The  question  you  broach,"  replies 
Lowell,  "  is  a  question  of  taste,  and  the 
deeper  social  instincts  of  racial  purity  and 
self-preservation.  I  care  not  what  your 
culture,  or  your  genius,  or  your  position,  I 
do  not  desire,  and  will  not  permit,  a  mix- 
ture of  negro  blood  in  my  family.  The 
idea  is  nauseating,  and  to  my  daughter  it 
118 


THOMAS     DIXON,     JR. 

would  be  repulsive  beyond  the  power  of 
words  to  express  it !  " 

"  And  yet,"  pleads  Harris,  "  you  invited 
me  to  your  home,  introduced  me  to  your 
daughter,  seated  me  at  your  table,  and  used 
me  in  your  appeal  to  your  constituents,  and 
now  when  I  dare  ask  the  privilege  of  seek- 
ing her  hand  in  honourable  marriage,  you, 
the  scholar,  patriot,  statesman,  and  philoso- 
pher of  equality  and  democracy,  slam  the 
door  in  my  face  and  tell  me  that  I  am  a 
negro !  Is  this  fair  or  manly  ?  " 

"  I  fail  to  see  its  unfairness,"  is  Low- 
ell's answer ;  and  finally  Harris  is  ordered 
from  the  house. 

That  scene  presents  the  negro  problem 
stripped  of  all  its  shams  and  subterfuges. 
It  is  a  violent  picture.  The  effect  might 
have  been  produced  more  quietly  and  more 
truthfully.  The  plain  truth  is  that  no 
negro  in  Harris's  position  would  presume 

119 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

to  seek  the  hand  of  a  white  lady.  He 
would  be  content  with  political  and  ath- 
letic equality.  A  young  negro  orator  said 
at  Harvard  last  June  that  the  negro  prob- 
lem would  find  its  solution  in  religion; 
yet  only  a  few  years  ago,  in  Boston,  the 
cradle  of  abolition,  a  worthy  negro  bishop 
was  denied  bed  and  board  at  all  the  lead- 
ing hotels,  and  even  Booker  T.  Washing- 
ton himself,  when  he  visits  Boston  to  ap- 
peal to  his  influential  admirers  there,  is 
obliged  to  put  up  at  a  hotel  in  one  of  the 
cheapest  parts  of  the  city. 

Naturally  "The  Leopard's  Spots" 
aroused  much  hostile  criticism,  based  on 
the  allegation  that  it  appealed  to  preju- 
dice and  that  it  raked  up  dead  issues.  The 
author  replied  in  a  letter  from  which  we 
quote  these  few  paragraphs : 

"  I  have  not  sought  to  arouse  race  hatred 
or  prejudice.  For  the  negro  I  have  the 
120 


THOMAS    DIXON,     JR. 

friendliest  feelings  and  the  profoundest 
pity.  What  I  have  attempted  to  show  is 
that  this  nation  is  now  beginning  to  face 
an  apparently  insoluble  problem.  Fred- 
eric Harrison  declares  it  to  be  the  darkest 
shadow  over  the  future  of  the  American 
republic.  .  .  . 

"  I  claim  the  book  is  an  authentic  hu- 
man document,  and  I  know  it  is  the  most 
important  moral  deed  of  my  life.  There 
is  not  a  bitter  or  malignant  sentence  in  it. 
It  may  shock  the  prejudices  of  those  who 
have  idealized  or  worshipped  the  negro  as 
canonized  in  '  Uncle  Tom.'  Is  it  not  time 
they  heard  the  whole  truth?  They  have 
heard  only  one  side  for  forty  years.  .  .  . 

"  The  only  question  for  a  critic  to  deter- 
mine when  discussing  my  moral  right  to 
publish  such  a  book  is  this :  Is  the  record 
of  life  given  important  and  authentic  ?  If 
eighteen  millions  of  Southern  people,  who 

121 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

at  present  rule,  believe  what  my  book  ex- 
presses, is  it  not  well  to  know  it  ?  I  assert 
that  they  do  believe  it,  and  the  number  of 
Southern  white  people  to-day  who  disagree 
with  c  The  Leopard's  Spots '  could  all  be 
housed  on  a  half -acre  lot.  I  challenge  any 
man  to  deny  this.  If  it  is  true,  is  it  not  of 
tremendous  importance  that  the  whole 
nation  shall  know  it  ?  " 

Like  the  strength  of  "  Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin,"  the  strength  of  "  The  Leopard's 
Spots  "  is  elemental.  The  Southern  novel 
is  curiously  crude.  The  simplest  rules  of 
grammar  are  repeatedly  broken  and  the 
characters  talk  stiltedly  and  again  ab- 
surdly. Miss  Lowell,  the  Bostonian,  is 
made  to  say,  "  If  Bob  don't  write  me  faith- 
fully I'll  make  him  come  here  and  live  in 
Boston."  A  young  woman  of  her  environ- 
ment could  not  say  "  If  Bob  don't,"  any 
more  than  her  proud  and  prudent  father 
122 


THOMAS     DIXQN,     JR. 

could  ever  leave  her  alone  to  entertain  a 
negro  or  be  entertained  by  him.  The  Re- 
publicans of  Massachusetts  have  courted 
the  negro's  vote,  but  they  have  never  ac- 
customed themselves  to  inviting  the  negro 
to  their  houses. 

The  love-story  of  the  hero,  Charles  Gas- 
ton,  and  Miss  Sallie  Worth  is  the  least 
extravagant  and  the  most  pleasing  feature 
of  the  novel.  Indeed,  that  story  more  than 
anything  else  in  the  book  contains  a  prom- 
ise of  good  things  to  come.  The  scene  of 
Gaston's  proposal  to  Miss  Sallie  is  poet- 
ically described,  and  the  manly  directness 
of  the  young  gentleman  and  the  coy  yet 
finely  modest  demeanour  of  the  young  lady 
are  delineated  with  captivating  skill. 

The  character  of  Charles  Gaston,  whose 
boyhood  is  saddened  by  the  deplorable  days 
of  the  Reconstruction  period,  and  under 
whose  leadership  the  white  men  rule  su- 

123 


LITTLE    PILGBIMAGES 

preme,  is  drawn  from  the  present  Governor 
of  North  Carolina. 

Comparatively  speaking,  the  author  of 
"  The  Leopard's  Spots  "  is  still  a  young 
man.  He  was  born  in  Shelby,  North  Caro- 
lina, January  11,  1864.  His  father  was 
a  well-known  Baptist  minister.  At  the  age 
of  nineteen  Thomas  was  graduated  from 
Wake  Forest  College,  one  of  the  minor 
schools  of  his  native  State,  and,  by  the 
way,  the  alma  mater  of  the  hero  of  the 
novel.  Then  Mr.  Dixon  entered  Johns 
Hopkins  University,  Baltimore,  as  a  spe- 
cial student  in  history  and  politics.  This 
advantage  was  gained  by  means  of  a 
scholarship.  The  following  year,  1884,  he 
took  up  the  study  of  law  at  the  Greensboro 
(North  Carolina)  Law  School,  from  which 
he  was  graduated  with  honours  in  1886. 
That  same  year  he  was  admitted  to  the 
bar  of  all  the  courts  in  the  State,  including 
124 


THOMAS     DIXQN,     JR. 

the  United  States  district  courts,  and  also 
to  the  bar  of  the  United  States  Supreme 
Court  at  Washington.  However,  with 
characteristic  restlessness,  he  resigned  these 
privileges,  in  October,  1886,  to  enter  the 
ministry.  Seven  months  before  he  had  been 
married  to  Miss  Harriett  Bussey,  of  Mont- 
gomery, Alabama. 

It  would  be  a  rather  difficult  task  to  note 
in  an  orderly  fashion  all  the  steps  that  Mr. 
Dixon  took  from  his  graduation  at  Wake 
Forest  College  to  his  entrance  into  the  min- 
istry. For  one  thing,  he  was  a  member  of 
the  North  Carolina  Legislature  from  1884 
to  1886;  but  other  pursuits  seem  to  have 
lessened  legislative  attractions  for  him. 
At  the  same  time,  in  1884,  he  must  have 
been  a  curious,  if  not  a  powerful,  legis- 
lator, for  he  was  then  only  twenty  years 
old,  and  consequently  not  a  voter.  A  young 

125 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

man  to  have  been  affected  by  the  buzzing  of 
the  political  bee ! 

In  1887,  after  his  ordination,  he  was 
elected  pastor  of  a  Baptist  church  in  Ral- 
eigh, North  Carolina.  During  the  follow- 
ing year  he  occupied  a  Baptist  pulpit  in 
Boston,  and  the  next  year  he  accepted  a 
call  to  the  People's  Temple  (Baptist)  in 
New  York.  There  his  restlessness  waned, 
for  there  he  remained  until  1899.  Before 
the  close  of  his  ministry  he  enjoyed  the  rep- 
utation of  attracting  larger  congregations 
than  any  other  Protestant  preacher  in  the 
country.  At  any  rate,  his  ministration  was 
remarkably  popular ;  and  when  he  pleased 
he  could  preach  a  highly  sensational  ser- 
mon. Many  of  his  pulpit  utterances  are  to 
be  found  in  the  books  which  he  compiled 
prior  to  his  leaving  New  York  —  "  Living 
Problems  in  Religion  and  Social  Science  " 
(1891),  "What  Is  Religion?"  (1902), 
126 


THOMAS    DIXON,    JK. 

"  Sermons  on  Ingersoll "  (1894),  and  the 
"  Failure  of  Protestantism  in  New  York  " 
(1897).  The  last  book  may  be  said  to 
have  foretold  his  departure  from  the  min- 
istry. As  pastor  of  the  People's  Church  he 
rose  to  more  than  local  prominence  by 
reason  of  his  freedom  and  originality  of 
thought,  his  vigour  of  expression,  and  his 
independence  of  action.  He  proved  on 
many  occasions  that  he  was  not  a  man  to  be 
fettered  by  traditions  or  by  customs ;  but, 
at  the  same  time,  he  stood  afar  from  radi- 
calism. His  faith  was  as  strong  at  the  end 
of  his  ministry  as  at  the  start,  and  his  inde- 
pendence concerned  the  lesser  restraints. 
He  did  not  hesitate,  for  instance^  to  go 
hunting  with  a  gun  —  which  is  not  exactly 
a  clerical  occupation. 

It  was  as  a  preacher,  by  the  way,  that 
Mr.  Dixon  first  became  identified  with  fic- 
tion. Camden,  the  heroic  preacher  who 

127 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

figures  in  one  of  Lilian  Bell's  stories,  was 
drawn  from  the  same  man  who  afterward 
drew  the  heroic  figure  of  Charles  Gaston 
in  "  The  Leopard's  Spots." 

Nearly  every  educated  imaginative  boy 
at  some  time  feels  disposed  to  write  books. 
Our  North  Carolina  boy  was  no  exception 
to  this  rule;  and  though  law,  and  after- 
ward religion,  drew  him  away  from  liter- 
ature, he  has  returned  to  it  as  to  a  first 
love.  After  leaving  the  People's  Temple 
he  spent  much  of  his  time  lecturing;  and 
indeed,  he  is  one  of  the  most  popular  lec- 
turers in  America.  But  he  kept  literature 
in  mind,  and  simply  awaited  his  theme  — 
his  opportunity. 

"  The  Leopard's  Spots  "  simmered  in  his 
mind  for  more  than  a  year.  Almost  every 
day  something  went  into  the  mental  pot  — 
some  idea,  some  fact  found  in  an  obscure 
quarter,  some  new  answer  to  an  old  argu- 
128 


THOMAS    DIXQN,    JK. 

ment.  The  actual  writing  of  the  novel  oc- 
cupied about  sixty  days.  Part  of  the  writ- 
ing was  done  in  a  deserted  cabin  on  the 
shore  of  Chesapeake  Bay,  across  from 
"  Elmington,"  the  author's  estate ;  and 
part  was  done  in  the  spare  hours  of  a  lec- 
ture tour. 

This  tour  was  full  of  distraction.  There 
is  a  story  which  tells  how  a  peremptory 
dinner  call  at  a  hotel  brought  him  moodily 
down-stairs.  As  he  was  entering  the  din- 
ing-room, a  black  hall-boy  pulled  his  sleeve 
and  said,  "  'Scuse  me,  suh ;  but  I  reck'n 
you's  forgot  sump'n."  "  Have  I  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Dixon,  puzzled.  "What  is  it?" 
"  You's  sutunly  forgot  all  'bout  dat  collah 
an'  necktie."  Sure  enough,  in  his  excite- 
ment he  had  overlooked  his  neckwear,  and 
he  returned  to  his  room  thankful  that  his 
omission  was  not  worse.  He  does  not  mind 
telling  a  story  on  himself. 

129 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

"  Elmington  Manor,"  the  author's  new 
house  in  Dixondale,  Virginia,  is  a  truly 
magnificent  estate.  The  five  hundred 
acres  comprise  all  the  attractions  of  the 
country  and  the  seashore.  Quail,  wood- 
cock, and  wild  turkey  abound;  there  are 
twenty-five  acres  of  oyster  beds;  there  is 
a  beach  a  mile  and  a  half  long;  there  are 
three  hundred  large  shade  trees  on  the 
lawn;  the  white  house,  with  its  imposing 
portico,  contains  thirty-five  rooms,  and  the 
drive  from  the  porch  to  the  front  gate  is 
two  miles  long.  The  log-cabin  in  which 
the  author  works  was  planned  by  him  and 
built  by  negroes  under  his  supervision. 
Across  the  creek  from  "  Elmington  "  and 
the  five  hundred  acres  roundabout  were 
once  among  the  possessions  of  the  Indian 
princess  Pocahontas. 

Mr.  Dixon's  latest  novel,  "  The  One 
Woman,"  is  a  New  York  story  dealing 
130 


THOMAS     DIXON,     JE. 

with  divorce  and  socialism.  It  is  related 
that  when  his  publishers  read  the  manu- 
script they  notified  him  to  make  his  own 
terms.  The  shock  which  the  reception  of 
that  notice  must  have  produced  is  some- 
thing which  most  authors  still  merely 
dream  of  experiencing. 


131 


FINLEY    PETER    DUNNE. 


FINLEY    PETEK    DUNNE 


/N  1898  happened  two  memorable  af- 
fairs. One  was  the  war  with  Spain, 
and  the  other  was  the  appearance  of 
"  Mr.  Dooley."  Truly,  the  two  heroes  of 
'98  were  Dewey  and  the  philosopher  of 
Arr-chey  Road.  And  the  philosopher  has 
surpassed  the  soldier;  he  has  remained 
constantly  popular.  When  we  have  forgot- 
ten what  ships  took  part  in  the  battle  of 
Manila  Bay  we  shall  still  delight  in  the 
pages  of  "Mr.  Dooley  in  Peace  and  in 
War." 

The  creator  of  Mr.  Dooley,  Finley  Peter 
Dunne,  is  a  native  of  Chicago,  and  now 
a  resident  of  New  York ;  and  whereas,  by 
the  way  the  martial  hero  aforementioned 
is  drawing  a  noble  salary  from  the  govern- 

133 


LITTLE     PILGKI MAGES 

inent,  Mr.  Dunne  is  drawing  a  princely 
salary  —  $40,000  —  from  one  of  the  New 
York  publishing  houses. 

In  Chicago,  in  St.  Patrick's  parish,  was 
Mr.  Dunne  born  on  July  10,  1867.  As  all 
good  American  boys  do,  he  went  to  the  pub- 
lic schools,  and  in  1885,  at  the  age  of 
eighteen,  after  his  moderate  schooling  and 
some  little  knocking  about,  he  entered  the 
literary  world  by  the  side  door  of  jour- 
nalism. Of  course  he  began  as  a  reporter. 
Only  the  rich  amateurs,  or  the  lucky  heirs 
to  some  newspaper  property,  begin  as  any- 
thing else.  Many  of  the  ablest  newspaper 
men  are  reporters  to  the  last. 

In  1891  he  was  made  city  editor  of  the 
Chicago  Times;  and  from  that  time  till 
1898  he  occupied  various  positions  on  vari- 
ous newspapers,  after  the  manner  of  Chi- 
cago journalists.  In  1898,  the  year  of  his 
bound  to  fame,  he  was  managing  editor  of 
134 


EINLEY    PETEE    DUNNE 

the  Chicago  Journal;  and,  like  most  other 
managing  editors,  he  still  found  leisure 
moments  for  private  practice.  It  is  one  of 
the  principal  duties  of  a  managing  editor 
to  see  that  all  the  other  members  of  the 
force  work  resolutely,  dutifully.  Many  a 
bag  of  peanuts  has  been  shelled  in  that 
autocrat's  room. 

Soon  after  the  beginning  of  the  war  the 
biting  humour  of  Mr.  Dooley  found  soft 
places  in  Washington,  and  particularly 
among  the  department  fops  and  fossils. 
Bombast,  red  tape,  procrastination,  incom- 
petency,  stupidity,  overzealousness,  jeal- 
ousy —  all  these  flaws  and  foibles  were  ex- 
posed, laughably  yet  mercilessly,  by  the 
Chicago  Irish-American.  Especially  funny 
and  severe  was  he  with  the  famous  Board 
of  Strategy.  In  fact,  he  brought  that 
blundering  body  into  national  ridicule,  and 
so  thoroughly  and  inimitably  that  other 

135 


LITTLE     PILGEIMAGES 

writers,  with  a  few  inconsequential  excep- 
tions, granted  him  a  monopoly,  and  the 
people  at  large  enriched  their  common 
sense. 

Weekly  the  friends  and  foes  of  the  war 
looked  for  Mr.  Dooley's  comments  on  the 
procession  of  events  —  looked  as  eagerly 
for  those  comments  as  for  the  despatches 
from  Cuba  and  Porto  Rico  and  the  Philip- 
pines. And  then  the  war  ended ;  and  then 
it  was  whispered  in  divers  rural  side-sta- 
tions of  literature  that  Mr.  Dooley  would 
end.  But  no.  Simply  his  present  vocation 
ended.  His  philosophy  is  not  like  an  arc- 
light  —  one  steady,  concentrated  blaze ;  it 
is  more  like  the  diamond,  with  its  many- 
sided  brilliancy.  In  plain  words,  Mr. 
Dooley  proved  that  he  could  flash  at  every 
turn.  "  Mr.  Dooley  in  the  Hearts  of  His 
Countrymen  "  proved  to  be  as  witty  and  as 

136 


FINLEY    PETEE    DUNNE 

wise  as  had  proved  "  Mr.  Dooley  in  Peace 
and  in  War." 

It  is  to  be  supposed  that  no  one  forgets 
his  Mr.  Dooley  of  Boord  of  Sthrathegy 
fame,  —  his  simple,  homely,  Irish- Ameri- 
can humour.  Now,  compare  with  that,  if 
you  please,  this  specimen  of  his  later  hu- 
mour, taken  from  an  article  printed  in 
Collier's  Weekly  (February  28,  1903). 
The  article  was  entitled :  "  On  the  White 
House  Expense  Account " : 

"  Up  to  this  day  ivry  prisidint  in  th' 
White  House  has  lived  as  become  his  sta- 
tion, that  is,  Hinnissy,  very  badly.  For- 
eign noblemen  long  unaccustomed  to 
lookin'  upon  th'  currant  wine  whin  it  was 
red  within  th'  cup  come  out  iv  th'  White 
House  with  their  hands  on  their  stomach. 
Th'  first  lady  iv  th'  land  cut  th'  hair  iv  th' 
first  childher  iv  th'  land  with  her  own  fair 
hands  an'  th'  first  gintleman  in  th'  land 

137 


LITTLE    PILGBIMAGES 

was  often  to  bo  seen  wurrukin'  th'  wringer 
on  Mondahs.  They  wasn't  a  man  howiver 
humble  that  wint  to  th'  White  House  an' 
didn't  feel  at  home  or  worse.  They  was  a 
corjal  welcome  f'r  wan  an'  all  in  that  hos- 
pitable mansion.  But  whin  Teddy  Bosen- 
felt  came  in  he  changed  all  that.  Th'  first 
thing  he  done  was  to  make  over  th'  White 
House.  Up  to  his  time  th'  White  House 
was  a  place  where  anny  gintleman  cud  live 
but  wudden't  if  there  was  a  hotel  handy. 
But  it  wasn't  good  enough  f'r  this  jood. 
He  changed  it  around,  this  mansion  full  iv 
th'  best  thraditions  of  our  govermint  an' 
ivry  other  kind  of  thraditions,  this  sacred 
ol'  hen-coop  where  a  cinchry  iv  statesmen 
had  come  an'  gone  —  he  changed  it  round 
to  suit  th'  idees  iv  archytecture  in  New 
York.  He  put  th'  coal  cellar  on  th'  roof, 
th'  kitchen  in  th'  threasury  departmint  an' 
arranged  it  so  that  guests  enthered  through 
138 


FIN LEY    EETEE    DUNNE 

th'  laundhry  an'  proceeded  up  through  th' 
ash  chute  to  a  pint  where  they  was  picked 
up  be  an  autymatic  distributor  and  dis- 
thributed  —  th'  legs  in  the  east  room,  th' 
ar-rms  in  th'  west  room,  an'  so  on.  Before 
he  wint  at  it  th'  White  House  looked  like 
a  handsome  calcimined  packin'-case  with 
windows  cut  in  f'r  Gin'ral  Miles  to  lave 
by.  Afther  this  jood  prisidint  got  through 
with  it  it  looked  as  though  th'  packin'-case 
had  taken  Tiddy's  advice  an'  raised  a  large 
fam'ly  iv  soap-boxes,  tea-caddies,  an'  little 
ice-chests.  In  this  palace  he  lives  like  a 
king  an'  onaisy  lies  th'  head  that  wears  a 


crown." 


It  is  a  remarkable  fact  that  although 
Mr.  Dunne  had  a  few  imitators  in  the  be- 
ginning, he  has  had  none  since.  Of  his 
field  he  has  a  sinecure  and  a  monopoly. 
Furthermore,  to  his  mission  there  seems  to 
be  no  end.  His  philosophy  is  not  merely 

139 


LITTLE     PILQK IMAGES 

interesting,  amusing.  Mr.  Dooley's  is  a 
pat  philosophy.  The  old  gentleman  has 
an  eye  for  local  affairs,  and  at  the  same 
time,  he  takes  advantage  of  the  statesman's 
ways  and  discusses  everything  under  the 
sun.  TJius  he  has  endeared  himself  to 
broad-minded  aliens;  and,  mirabile  dictu! 
—  even  to  the  cultured  English.  The  clev- 
erest daily  in  the  whole  United  Kingdom, 
Tory  of  the  Tories  and  bluest  of  the  blue- 
blooded,  for  a  time  published  his  com- 
ments on  British  stupidity  in  South 
Africa  and  on  Chinese  duplicity  in  Pekin, 
At  one  time  Mr.  Dunne  seemed  destined 
to  be  the  first  regular  correspondent  of 
every  enterprising  weekly  in  Christendom. 

But  we  must  go  back  a  little.  "No  doubt 
you  would  like  to  know  how  Mr.  Dooley 
came  into  being. 

The  idea  occurred  to  Mr.  Dunne  in  his 
reportorial  days;  but  it  was  not  material- 
140 


FINLEY    PETEE    DUNNE 

ized  until  1893,  the  year  of  the  Columbian 
Exposition. 

About  the  middle  of  that  year  two  Chi- 
cago men  were  speaking  to  each  other 
about  the  exposition.  One  of  them  con- 
demned Eugene  Field  for  his  attacks  on 
local  manners  in  "  Sharps  and  Flats  "  — 
his  column  in  a  local  paper,  and  usually 
more  rather  sharp  than  flat.  Field's 
barbs  were  amusement  for  New  York  and 
Boston.  The  man  said  that  his  idea  of 
excellent  local  humour,  pointed  but  genial, 
was  an  Irish  dialect  story  he  had  read  in 
the  Evening  Post  the  Saturday  before,  en- 
titled "  Among  the  Potes,"  and  purporting 
to  be  Colonel  McNeery's  account  of  a  visit 
to  the  "  Lithry  Congress."  The  following 
Saturday  the  colonel  described  a  call  on 
the  lady  managers.  Unfortunately,  these 
earlier  writings  of  Mr.  Dunne  are  yet  un- 
collected. 

141 


LITTLE    PILGBIMAGES 

The  impulse  to  write  this  weekly  col- 
umn for  his  paper  came  to  Mr.  Dunne 
through  his  slight  acquaintance  with  an 
Irishman  named  McGarry,  who  kept  a 
saloon  on  Dearborn  Street,  near  Madison, 
not  far  from  the  Chicago  Tribune  build- 
ing. Until  lately,  you  see,  Mr.  Dunne's 
environment  has  been  totally  journalistic. 

McGarry,  the  saloon-keeper,  was  an  old 
Irishman  who  had  a  bright  if  not  always 
happy  way  of  commenting  on  local  politics 
and  local  events.  His  originality  made 
him  very  attractive  to  the  newspaper  men 
of  the  locality.  Among  his  casual  patrons 
was  Dunne,  who,  one  day  hearing  a  par- 
ticularly breezy  speech  by  the  McGarry, 
used  it  for  the  beginning  of  his  dialect 
sketches.  Further  than  that,  the  articles 
were  Mr.  Dunne's  own  conception.  He 
used  the  name  McNeery;  and  within  a 
year  the  saloon  wherein  he  got  his  first 
142 


FIKLEY    PETER    DUNNE 

irresistible  inspiration  was  transformed 
into  a  haberdashery.  Within  a  year,  too, 
the  name  McNeery  was  changed  to  Dooley, 
the  name  now  renowned  the  world  over. 

The  Arr-chey  Road  familiar  to  readers 
of  Mr.  Dooley  is  Archer  Avenue,  formerly 
an  old  turnpike  and  generally  called 
Archer  Road,  which  in  the  early  days  was 
the  centre  of  Irish  life  in  the  "  Windy 
City."  Mr.  Dunne  has  said  that  when 
he  was  a  boy  there  were  many  characters 
of  the  Dooley  type  in  that  section  of  Chi- 
cago, and  originally  it  was  his  idea  that  the 
views  of  one  of  these  characters,  based  on 
newspaper  items  —  all  these  men  were  in- 
veterate newspaper  readers  —  would  be  a 
capital  medium  for  the  discussion  of  local 
affairs.  Thus  at  first  they  were  little 
more  than  sketches  of  Irish  life  in  Chi- 
cago; but  gradually  they  broadened  into 
their  present  universal  state. 

143 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

The  name  Dooley  was  a  random  choice. 
Though  not  as  common  as  McKenna,  Hen- 
nessy,  O'Brien,  and  Kelly  (the  names  of 
the  other  individuals  now  and  then  men- 
tioned in  the  articles),  it  is  a  thorough- 
bred Irish  name.  These  other  individuals 
are  all  more  or  less  real.  There  was  even 
a  Father  Kelly  in  the  Archer  Koad 
neighbourhood,  which  neighbourhood,  by 
the  way,  is  to-day  as  much  Italian  and 
Syrian  as  Irish. 

At  first  Mr.  Dunne  did  not  take  his 
Dooley  articles  very  seriously;  it  was  the 
seriousness  with  which  strangers  — 
strangers  in  Boston,  in  New  York,  in 
Newport  News  and  in  Tacoma  —  by-and- 
by  took  them  that  aroused  him  to  a  sense 
of  their  immense  importance.  There  was 
a  demand  for  them  in  every  part  of  the 
country ;  and  from  Maine  as  well  as  from 

144 


FINLEY    PETEK    DUNNE 

Texas  he  received  letters  full  of  sugges- 
tions and  congratulations. 

In  the  beginning  the  Dooley  article  was 
a  regular  Saturday  feature  of  the  Post. 
Usually  it  was  done  in  an  hour  snatched 
from  editorial  work,  which  was  then  re- 
garded as  his  most  important  work. 
There  was  no  reaching  for  brilliancy,  no 
attempt  at  polish.  The  purpose  was  sim- 
ply to  amuse.  But  it  was  this  very  ease 
and  informality  of  the  articles  that  caught 
the  popular  fancy.  The  spontaneity  was 
so  genuine ;  the  timeliness  was  so  obvious. 
If  the  present  Dooley  articles  seem  to  lack 
the  latter  quality,  the  spontaneity  is  as 
fresh  as  ever.  Fame  has  insisted  upon  a 
marble  fountain,  but  the  spring  within 
bubbles  as  of  yore. 

What  is  the  Dooley  brogue?  It  is  not 
the  brogue  of  Terence  Mulvaney;  nor  is 
it  the  brogue  of  Rory  O'More.  It  is  in- 

145 


LITTLE     PILGKIMAGES 

tended  to  be  the  speech  of  an  Irishman 
whose  mother-tongue,  or  native  dialect,  has 
been  modified  by  localisms.  At  the  same 
time,  intelligent  Irishmen  have  compli- 
mented Mr.  Dunne  on  the  naturalness  of 
Mr.  Dooley's  language.  Dooley  is  a 
bright-minded,  soft-hearted,  sharp-tongued 
Irishman  who  has  been  thoroughly  devel- 
oped by  the  pushing  and  hauling,  the  ris- 
ing and  falling,  the  joking  and  swearing 
of  American  life.  On  the  whole,  his  phi- 
losophy is  as  amiable  as  it  is  true. 

Three  years  ago  Mr.  Dunne,  accepting 
several  very  flattering  offers,  left  Chicago 
for  New  York.  There,  in  the  new  literary 
centre  of  the  land,  he  was  married,  last 
December,  to  Miss  Margaret  Abbott ;  there 
he  has  contracted  to  work,  and  there,  con- 
sequently, for  an  indefinite  period,  will 
reside  with  him  the  happiest  of  our  twen- 
tieth-century philosophers. 
146 


GEORGE    GARY   EGGLESTON 


GEOKGE     CAEY     EGGLESTON 


^j  CKITIC    in   Baltimore   has   re- 
S1    marked :   "  'No  writer  in  the  score 
and  more  of  novelists  now  exploit- 
ing   in    the    Southern    field    can,    for    a 
moment,  compare  in  truth  and  interest  to 
Mr.  Eggleston.     He  is  to-day  the  single 
novelist  who  writes  of  the  Virginias  and 
Carolinas  as  they  really  were  before  the 
war  between  the  States." 

The  word  of  a  Southern  critic  in  this 
case  must  needs  be  accepted  by  a  North- 
erner. We  might  add  that  Mr.  Eggleston, 
in  aiming  to  write  wholesome  stories,  has 
at  times  too  perceptibly  suppressed  his 
masculinity. 

Which  reminds  us  that  some  thirty 
years  ago  Henry  James,  who  was  then 

147 


LITTLE    PILGRIMAGES 

doing  the  American  correspondence  for 
Literature,  came  across  a  copy  of  "  A 
Rebel's  Recollections,"  by  George  Gary 
Eggleston.  What  affected  the  keen  young 
critic  most  was  the  rebel's  suppressed 
vitality.  Mr.  James  was  moved  to  inquire 
how  in  the  name  of  Mars  a  man  who  had 
survived  so  many  extraordinary  dramas 
and  tragedies  —  such  thrilling  romances 
and  such  appalling  carnages  —  could 
write  in  cold  blood,  as  if  of  house  parties 
and  sham  fights  at  the  country  fairs. 
Some  day,  said  James,  Mr.  Eggleston  will 
awake  to  the  loss  of  his  opportunities. 

The  awakening  has  come.  It  began  in 
1901  with  the  appearance  of  "  A  Carolina 
Cavalier,"  and  it  has  been  continued  in 
"Dorothy  South"  and  in  "The  Master 
of  Warlock."  Mr.  Kipling  has  told  us 
of  the  ship  that  found  herself.  Now  Mr. 

148 


GEOEGE     GARY     EGGLESTOK 

Eggleston  may  write  intimately  of  the  au- 
thor who  found  himself. 

It  took  Mr.  Eggleston  a  good  many  years 
to  find  himself.  No  doubt  the  good  red 
blood  was  pumping  out  of  his  heart  all 
the  time,  and  no  doubt  his  note-books  were 
orderly  storehouses  of  romantic  wealth; 
but  the  prick  that  drew  the  blood  and  still 
small  voice  that  urged  the  modest  historian 
to  higher  flights  were  tardy,  very  tardy. 

It  may  have  been  the  dreadful  incubus 
of  journalism  that  closeted  this  entertain- 
ing romancist  for  so  long  a  time.  Mr. 
Eggleston  was  a  journalist  practically  from 
the  close  of  the  Civil  War  to  1900. 

The  author's  father,  Joseph  Gary  Eggles- 
ton, migrated  from  his  native  State  of 
Virginia  to  Indiana  in  his  youth.  He 
settled  down  and  practised  his  profession 
of  law  in  the  town  of  Yevay.  George  was 
the  second  of  four  children,  the  oldest  of 

149 


LITTLE     PILGKIMAGES 

whom  was  Edward,  the  novelist  and  his- 
torian, who  died  last  year.  The  date  of 
George's  birth  was  November  26,  1839. 
When  he  was  six  or  seven  years  old  his 
mother  became  a  widow.  At  the  age  of 
fifteen  he  was  graduated  from  the  Madison 
High  School  and  entered  the  Indiana  As- 
bury  University.  About  the  middle  of  his 
second  year  he,  in  company  with  nearly 
all  the  other  students,  was  expelled.  It 
was  probably  an  exaggerated  instance  of 
the  common  frontier  disputes  between 
pupils  and  teacher,  in  which  usually  the 
more  stubborn  force  won. 

Returning  to  Madison,  whither  his 
mother  had  gone  from  Vevay,  George  took 
a  school  on  the  edge  of  the  town,  at  a  place 
called  Ryker's  Ridge,  and  there  this  six- 
teen-year-old teacher  had  pupils  ranging 
from  infancy  to  full  age.  This  life  was 
not  without  its  roughness  and  trouble,  as 
150 


GEOEGE     CAEY     EGGLESTON 

those  who  have  read  Edward  Eggleston's 
novel,  "  The  Hoosier  Schoolmaster," 
which  was  suggested  by  George's  experi- 
ences at  Madison,  must  remember.  The 
young  schoolmaster  held  his  chair,  more 
bravely  than  enthusiastically,  for  half  a 
year  or  more ;  then  he  went  East  along  the 
route  which  his  father  had  followed  going 
West. 

So,  until  he  was  seventeen,  George  Eg- 
gleston  lived  in  his  native  State.  The  fact 
that  he  in  his  youth  should  have  left  In- 
diana for  Virginia,  and  thus  reversed 
what  his  father  had  done,  is  noteworthy. 

The  formative  influence  had  been  at 
work  before  the  prairie  was  left  behind 
for  the  academic  groves  of  Virginia.  The 
boy  had  been  an  eager  browser  in  one  of 
the  largest  and  choicest  libraries  in  the 
West. 

"  It  was  a  fearfully  mixed  hodgepodge," 

151 


LITTLE    PILGRIMAGES 

he  once  wrote,  "  in  which  I  sometimes 
passed  from  a  volume  of  old  homilies  to 
one  of  Mistress  Aphra  Behn's  naughtiest 
novels,  or  from  a  poem  of  crack-brained 
old  Doctor  Donne  to  '  The  Children  of  the 
Abbey/  and  thence  to  Locke  or  Bacon  or 
Hobbs  or  Homer,  and  back  again  to  c  Scot- 
tish Chiefs/  with  perhaps  a  dip  into  Dis- 
raeli's '  Vivian  Gray/  by  the  way.  It  was 
all  sorts  of  reading,  but  I  think  it  did  me 
good,  and  bred  a  certain  catholicity  of  taste 
which  has  been  and  is  still  of  service  to 
me.  If  I  read  '  Tom  Jones/  and  '  Joseph 
Andrews/  and  f  Peregrine  Pickle/  and 
'  Roderick  Random/  I  also  read  '  Rasselas/ 
and  the  '  Vicar  of  Wakefield/  and  Miss 
Burney's  '  Evelina.'  If  I  enjoyed  the 
light  food  furnished  in  '  Charles  O'Mal- 
ley  '  and  '  Harry  Lorrequer  '  and  '  Valen- 
tine Vox/  I  was  pleased  also  with  Scott 
and  the  poets,  of  whom  Byron  and  Words- 
152 


GEORGE     GARY     EGGLESTON 

worth  —  for  somehow  they  pleased  me 
about  equally,  answering,  I  suppose,  to 
different  wants  of  my  nature  —  were  my 
favourites  after  Shakespeare,  who  was  my 
dissipation  from  childhood. 

"  I  remember  that  in  school  I  learned 
so  quickly  that  I  had  much  spare  time, 
and  I  made  still  more  by  neglecting  lessons 
sometimes ;  this  spare  time  I  gave  to  Scott 
and  Shakespeare,  cutting  the  volumes  to 
pieces  and  concealing  the  leaves  between 
the  maps  in  my  atlas,  so  that  I  might  at 
once  enjoy  the  reputation  of  diligence  in 
geographical  study  and  the  pleasure  of 
reading  what  I  liked.  About  that  time  I 
read  *  Smiley  on  Class-meetings/  Baxter's 
'  Saints'  Rest,'  and  somebody's  l  Plan  of 
Salvation,'  —  who  the  author  was  I  have 
luckily  forgotten,  as  I  do  not  like  to  bear 
malice,  —  reading  them  upon  compulsion." 

In  the  spring  of  1856,  George,  with  a 

153 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

younger  brother,  went  to  the  old  Eggleston 
homestead  in  Amelia  County,  Virginia, 
and  at  the  same  time  he  passed  from  the 
independent  state  of  a  hoosier  school- 
master to  the  guardianship  of  an  uncle. 
At  the  same  time  his  elder  brother,  Ed- 
ward, was  being  educated  at  a  boarding- 
school  in  the  county.  George  matriculated 
at  Richmond  College;  and  after  leaving 
this  institution  he  began  the  practice  of 
law  in  Richmond. 

He  was  not  long  in  Richmond  when  the 
war  broke  out.  Being  in  the  very  centre 
of  Confederate  enthusiasm,  he  yielded  to 
the  popular  movement  and  enlisted  as  a 
private  in  J.  E.  B.  Stuart's  First  Regi- 
ment of  Virginia  Cavalry.  Not  long  after 
enlisting  he  was  transferred  from  the  cav- 
alry to  the  artillery  branch  of  the  army, 
and  in  this  slower  but  none  the  less  im- 
portant branch  of  the  service  he  played  his 
154 


GEOEGE     GARY     EGGLESTON 

conscientious  part  from  the  first  battle  at 
Bull  Run  to  the  surrender  at  Appomattox 
Court-house. 

When  Lee  handed  over  his  sword  to 
Grant,  and  the  armies  dispersed  to  recover 
the  arts  and  sciences  of  peace,  young  Eg- 
gleston,  then  in  his  twenty-sixth  year,  bor- 
rowed some  money  and  went,  first  home  to 
Indiana,  and  thence  on  to  Illinois.  Here, 
in  the  latter  State,  in  Cairo,  he  found  him- 
self engaged  for  the  second  time  in  opposi- 
tion to  the  government ;  but  now  his  oppo- 
sition took  the  more  legitimate  form  of 
the  prosecution  of  claims.  In  this  task  he 
spent  a  year,  travelling  to  all  parts  of  the 
country.  Finishing  this  case,  he  took  mem- 
bership in  a  commission  house  of  Mem- 
phis, Tennessee,  but  after  a  few  months' 
experience  in  this  business  he  became  the 
private  correspondent  and  legal  adviser  of 

155 


LITTLE     PILGEIMAGES 

a  prosperous  house  in  Cairo.  With  this 
house  he  remained  from  1866  to  1870. 

Meantime  he  had  married,  and  domestic 
responsibilities  rising  in  company  with  a 
distaste  for  business,  he  decided  that  he 
would  be  at  once  more  successful  and  more 
contented  in  the  East,  which  had  already 
begun  to  revive  from  the  war.  Resigning 
his  position  in  Cairo,  he  made  haste  to 
reach  New  York. 

Here  his  career  turned  into  a  new  chan- 
nel. Here,  for  the  first  time,  the  seed 
scattered  in  the  family  library  in  Vevay 
rooted  and  flowered,  though  at  first  in  the 
out-of-the-way  path  of  journalism. 

Like  most  newspaper  men,  he  began  as 
a  reporter;  and  from  this  undignified  but 
important  office  he  rose  and  drifted  until, 
during  his  second  year  in  New  York,  he 
became  editor-in-chief  of  Hearth  and 
Home,,  with  which  periodical  his  brother 
156 


GEOEGE     OAKY     EGGLESTON 

Edward  had  become  connected  in  1870. 
He  conducted  Hearth  and  Home  until  its 
sale;  and  in  the  short  time  elapsing  be- 
tween that  time  and  his  entrance  into  the 
employ  of  the  New  York  Evening  Post, 
in  the  fall  of  1875,  he  devoted  himself  to 
writing. 

In  January,  1876,  the  ambitious 
Hoosier,  now  half- Virginian  by  reason  of 
his  associations  and  tastes,  was  promoted 
to  the  literary  editorship  of  the  Evening 
Post,  which  position  he  held  for  some  six 
years.  Later  he  was  employed  by  the  New 
York  Commercial- Advertiser;  and  from 
1889  to  1900  he  was  on  the  editorial  staff 
of  the  New  York  World. 

But  all  this  time  he  was  leading  the 
double  life  of  journalist  and  author; 
which,  in  its  way,  is  about  as  bad  as  any 
other  kind  of  double  life.  He  had  offered 
as  a  prelude  to  his  literary  career,  in  1872, 

157 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

a  homiletical  work  entitled  "  How  to  Edu- 
cate Yourself."  The  next  year  came  "  A 
Man  of  Honour/'  and  the  next  his  remark- 
able book  on  the  war,  "  A  Kebel's  Eecollec- 
tions";  in  1875,  "How  to  Make  a  Liv- 
ing" (a  book  which  he  might  well  have 
illustrated  himself),  and  then  a  series  of 
books  for  boys,  of  which  the  avowed  pur- 
pose was  to  furnish  stories  full  of  adven- 
ture and  outdoor  life.  In  the  author's 
opinion,  a  boy's  liking  for  stories  of 
adventure  is  perfectly  natural,  and 
hurtful  literature  of  adventure  can  be 
supplanted  "  only  by  harmless  literature 
of  adventure>  not  by  books  that  have  no 
adventure  in  them."  He  read  the  Hollo 
stories  when  he  was  a  boy,  and  the  Abbott 
histories  and  all  that  sort  of  dry  juvenility, 
and  he  believes  that  the  reading  did  him 
good ;  but  he  also  believes  that  boys  should 
have  their  share  of  books  of  adventure. 
158 


GEOKGE     GARY     EGGLESTON 

These  views  spurred  Mr.  Eggleston  on  to 
his  reformation  of  our  juvenile  literature, 
an  undertaking  in  which  he  won  a  signal 
success.  Indeed,  the  boy  of  to-day  may 
thank  the  author  of  "  The  Signal  Boy  " 
that  even  the  name  of  the  once  famous 
Rollo  is  but  a  memory. 

On  the  whole,  Mr..  Eggleston  has  done 
nothing  since  1900  that  he  might  not  have 
done  thirty  years  before.  If  things  always 
went  as  they  should  go,  in  place  of  "  How 
to  Educate  Yourself  "  the  reading  public 
of  1872  would  have  been  regaled  with  "  A 
Carolina  Cavalier."  Every  young  man  at 
Richmond  College  in  the  forties  must  have 
been  familiar  with  the  deeds  of  brave 
Rutledge  and  of  black  Tarleton,  and  with 
the  charming  Southern  life  that  predom- 
inates in  "  Dorothy  South  "  and  in  "  The 
Master  of  Warlock."  No  other  writer 
now  exploiting  the  Southern  field  writes 

159 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

at  once  so  truthfully  and  so  interestingly, 
because  none  other  has  had  Mr.  Eggleston's 
opportunities  for  observation.  The  most 
remarkable  part  of  it  all  is  that  he  should 
have  so  completely  preserved  the  spirit  of 
the  old  South,  which  was  adventurous  and 
tender  and  chivalrous  to  a  fault.  As  one 
critic  expressed  it  in  connection  with  "  A 
Carolina  Cavalier  " :  "  It  may  lack  the 
slash-and-thrust  excitement  which  many 
have  learned  to  crave,  but  it  has  more  en- 
during qualities  to  make  up  for  its  ab- 
sence." Again,  we  find  a  Southerner 
saying  of  "The  Master  of  Warlock": 
"  The  soldiers  in  it  are  drawn  with  a 
masculine  hand,  but  the  same  hand  also 
depicts  the  tenderness  and  mystery  of  a 
true  woman's  heart." 

The  tenderness  or  coldness  of  the  author 
is  exhibited  in  the  scene  in  "  A  Carolina 
Cavalier  "  in  which  the  hero  and  his  sup- 
160 


GEORGE     GARY     EGGLESTON 

porters  pursue  a  band  of  Tarleton's 
wretches  who  have  carried  off  the  hero's 
sister.  Among  young  Alton's  supporters 
are  some  rogues,  but  these  rogues  are 
patriots,  and,  compared  with  the  English 
officer's  men,  chevaliers.  These  outlaws 
are  led  by  a  man  named  Humphreys. 

The  rescue  is  accomplished,  after  some 
hard  fighting;  and  then  the  author  gives 
us  the  following  scene: 

"  '  What  have  you  done  with  your  pris- 
oners ? '  he  (Alton,  the  hero)  asked. 

" '  There  are  none/  answered  Hum- 
phreys. '  These  fellows  don't  take  pris- 
oners.' 

"  And  to  his  horror,  Roger  discovered 
that  such  was  the  truth.  The  men  who 
had  thrown  down  their  arms  had  been 
quickly  despatched  in  order  that  their  cap- 
tors might  be  free  to  continue  the  fight 
upon  their  comrades,  and  when  these  in 

161 


LITTLE     PILGKIMAGES 

turn  offered  surrender,  one  of  the  smuggler 
men  called  out :  '  We  will  give  you  Tarle- 
ton's  quarter ! '  What  that  meant  a  road 
strewn  with  dead  men  quickly  revealed. 

"  i  This  is  horrible/  said  Koger  to  Bar- 
negal,  as  Jacqueline  emerged  at  their  call 
from  the  cane. 

"  '  I  do  not  know/  said  Barnegal.  '  For 
myself,  I  am  savage  enough  to-night  to 
rejoice  in  it,  and,  besides,  it  is  a  trick  that 
the  British  themselves  have  taught  us. 
Those  fellows  did  not  cry  "  E"o  quarter," 
you  remember.  Their  cry  was  "  Tarleton's 
quarter."  It  is  a  cry  that  is  going  up  all 
over  this  land.  It  is  the  cry  of  desperate 
men  forced  into  savagery  by  savagery.  It 
is  the  recoil  of  an  explosion.  It  is  the  un- 
bending of  an  overstrained  bow.  Let's  not 
be  too  sensitive  about  it.  Jacqueline  at 
least  is  safe.' ? 

The  average  erring  reader  is  gratified 
162 


GEORGE     GARY     EGGLESTON 

by  BarnegaFs  words.  There  was  some  hot 
blood  in  Barnegal;  but  Alton,  the  hero, 
must  fit  the  author's  high  standard  of  tem- 
perance and  chivalry.  The  word  "  whole- 
some "  is  printed  in  "  caps.  "  in  Mr.  Eg- 
gleston's  dictionary. 

The  reward  of  this  native  delicacy  or 
literary  policy  is  the  exceptional  popular- 
ity of  Mr.  Eggleston's  recent  novels ;  and 
if  there  were  not  those  among  the  reading 
public  with  a  taste  for  something  else  than 
Paris  paper-covers  and  Russian  dismal- 
ness,  these  Southern  tales  would  not  be 
popular. 

Mr.  Eggleston  lives  and  works  in  New 
York,  but,  judging  by  his  novels,  his  heart 
must  half  the  time  be  back  in  the  land 
perfumed  by  trailing  honeysuckle  and 
climbing  roses. 


163 


ELLIOTT    FLOWER. 


ELLIOTT    FLOWER 


JTLLIOTT  FLOWER  became  an 
JTT  author  of  some  importance  when 
the  Century  Magazine  published 
his  "  Policeman  Flynn "  sketches  a  few 
years  ago.  These  sketches  were  a  periodic 
delight  for  more  than  a  year,  and  since 
then,  in  book  form,  they  have  been  to  their 
author  a  steady  source  of  profit  and  praise. 
This  year  Mr.  Flower  has  made  his  appear- 
ance in  a  more  serious  role  as  the  author 
of  "  The  Spoilsmen,"  a  novel  touching  on 
political  life  in  Chicago;  and  of  this  we 
shall  speak  later  on.  Incidentally,  he  has 
written  a  series  of  Irish  sketches,  some- 
what like  the  "  Policeman  Flynn " 
sketches  both  in  nature  and  in  merit,  for 

165 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

the  Woman  s  Home  Companion,  and  a 
large  number  of  short  stories  for  various 
magazines.  The  best  of  these  short  stories, 
in  the  author's  opinion,  are  "  The  Man 
Who  Was  Dead,"  "  The  Defeat  of  Amos/' 
"  The  Tragedy  of  the  Cipher  Code,"  and 
"  The  Uninherited  Inheritance." 

Mr.  Flower  was  born  in  Madison,  Wis- 
consin, August  2,  1863.  He  was  well 
educated,  in  private  as  well  as  in  public 
schools.  As  commonly  happens  —  so  com- 
monly, indeed,  that  it  is  barely  worth  men- 
tioning —  he  laboured  with  the  pen  when 
he  was  very  young.  "  I  always  went  in 
for  elaborate  plots  then,"  he  says,  "  and 
figured  on  turning  out  novels  of  about  two 
hundred  thousand  words  —  which  are  still 
unfinished."  "  The  Spoilsmen  "  contains 
less  than  half  two  hundred  thousand  words. 
The  boy  so  often  tries  to  do  what  the  man 
would  not  dream  of  doing.  Mr.  •  Mower 
166 


ELLIOTT    FLOWER 

has  preserved,  possibly  for  his  own  enter- 
tainment, some  products  of  his  juvenile 
audacity. 

His  first  public  venture  into  literature 
was  as  one  of  the  editors  of  a  paper  called 
the  Student.  That  was  while  he  and  the 
other  editor,  Mr.  Webster  P.  Huntingdon, 
were  being  tutored  at  Keene,  New  Hamp- 
shire. The  Student  "  had  a  glorious  career 
of  about  six  months."  The  quotation  is 
from  one  of  the  editors. 

At  the  age  of  nineteen  the  ambitious 
youth  from  Madison  was  in  Chicago, 
studying  law,  but  he  soon  abandoned  law 
to  join  Mr.  Harry  B.  Smith,  now  well- 
known  as  the  librettist  of  popular  comic 
operas,  in  the  publication  of  an  illustrated 
humourous  weekly  named  the  Rambler. 
The  weekly  failed  for  want  of  sufficient 
capital;  and  in  1886  the  ex-law  student 

167 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

and  ex-editor  joined  the  staff  of  the  Chi- 
cago Tribune. 

"  I  did  this,"  he  says,  "  by  simply  re- 
porting for  duty  day  after  day.  I  found 
out  when  the  rest  of  the  staff  reported  and 
showed  up  a  little  ahead  of  time.  For  a 
week  or  so  my  conversations  with  the  city 
editor  ran  something  like  this : 

"  c  Anything  for  me  to-day  ? 9 

" '  ^ot  to-day.' 

" '  Good  day/ 

"  Finally  the  city  editor  began  giving 
me  something  to  do  occasionally,  and  in- 
side of  a  month  I  was  on  the  payroll." 

That  was  the  turning-point  in  his  career. 
Reporting  for  a  newspaper  affords  a  young 
man  with  literary  aspirations  some  in- 
comparable opportunities  —  to  work,  and, 
best  of  all,  to  see.  The  first-rate  reporter 
is  necessarily  a  trained  observer.  He  sees 
things  as  they  are,  though,  to  be  sure,  he 
168 


ELLIOTT     FLOWEE 

occasionally  caters  to  the  popular  taste  by 
putting  the  yellow  colour  on  thick. 

Mr.  Flower  spent  seven  years  on  the 
Tribune,  filling  many  positions  and  alto- 
gether acquiring  a  thorough  knowledge  of 
the  newspaper  business. "  Among  other 
things,  he  had  charge  of  the  Tribune  force 
at  the  Johnstown  flood,  and  he  trailed 
Burke,  one  of  the  murderers  in  the  cele- 
brated Doctor  Cronin  case,  to  Winnipeg. 
His  own  store  of  experiences  as  a  reporter 
is  probably  ample  enough  to  supply  him 
with  dramatic  and  romantic  material  as 
long  as  he  chooses  to  write.  It  is  worth 
noting  that  at  one  time  he  "  covered  "  local 
politics  for  the  Tribune.  This  point  is 
intimately  connected  with  the  writing  of 
"  The  Spoilsmen." 

After  a  year  of  free-lance  journalism  he 
joined  the  Chicago  Evening  Post,  for 
which  he  wrote  editorials  and  took  charge 

169 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

of  a  column  of  satirical  and  humourous 
comment.  Two  years  ago  he  gave  up  jour- 
nalism as  a  profession,  but  he  still  con- 
ducts a  department  in  the  Evening  Post 
and  one  in  the  Brooklyn  Sunday  Eagle. 

From  the  beginning  of  his  newspaper 
career  he  had  done  more  or  less  work  for 
the  comic  weeklies;  but  he  did  not  turn 
his  talent  to  magazine  work  until  1899. 
He  has  remarked :  "  I  had  a  lot  of  trouble 
at  first  convincing  the  editors  that  I  was 
capable  of  writing  what  they  wanted,  but 
finally  met  with  reasonable  success,  the 
Century  being  the  first  magazine  to  give 
me  any  real  encouragement."  This  en- 
couragement was  the  request  to  furnish  a 
series  of  "  Policeman  Flynn  "  sketches. 

Apropos   of   Mr.   Mower's   experiences 
with  editors,  it  would  be  extremely  inter- 
esting  if   some   of   our   popular   authors 
should  publish  their  reminiscences  of  that 
170 


ELLIOTT     FLOWEK 

side  of  their  careers.  Possibly  this  extract 
from  a  letter  written  by  the  author  of  "  The 
Spoilsmen  "  may  inspire  some  equally  en- 
tertaining imitations : 

"  You  never  can  tell  what  an  editor  will 
do,"  he  says,  "  and  the  more  you  know 
about  him  the  less  capable  you  are  of 
judging.  When  I  have  a  short  story  ready 
to  send  away,  I  go  over  the  list  of  maga- 
zines, pick  out  those  that  in  my  judgment 
would  be  most  likely  to  accept  it,  and  then 
send  it  to  some  other.  I  find  I  get  the 
best  results  in  this  way.  Formerly,  I  used 
to  act  on  my  own  judgment,  and  I  would 
have  to  make  seven  or  eight  trials  to  sell 
a  story ;  now,  by  '  coppering '  my  own 
judgment,  I  often  hit  it  right  the  very 
first  time.  And  the  newspaper  editor  is 
an  uncertain  quantity,  just  like  the  maga- 
zine editor.  You  never  can  tell  what  he 
will  do,  either.  I  was  in  Winnipeg  once 

171 


LITTLE     PILGEIMAGES 

for  a  Chicago  paper,  and  the  editor  tele- 
graphed me  to  come  home.  I  did  so, 
reached  the  office,  and  he  said,  '  Go  back.7 
I  went  back  to  Winnipeg  on  the  next 
train." 

One  of  the  "  manuscript  experiences  " 
which  Mr.  Flower  relates  is  about  a  story 
that  came  back  from  an  editor  with  the 
suggestion  that  it  be  revised  along  certain 
lines.  After  this  had  been  done,  the  editor 
sent  it  back  a  second  time  with  the  state- 
ment that  he  feared  the  fault  lay  in  the 
story  rather  than  in  the  treatment  of  it 
(as  he  had  at  first  supposed),  and  it  was 
still  unacceptable.  Mr.  Flower  promptly 
sent  the  revised  version  to  another  editor, 
and  this  came  back  with  the  suggestion 
that  he  liked  the  story  but  thought  it  could 
be  improved.  After  waiting  a  short  time, 
to  give  the  impression  that  he  had  rewrit- 
ten it,  Mr.  Flower  sent  this  second  editor 
172 


ELLIOTT     FLOWEE 

the  original  version,  and  it  was  promptly 
accepted.  All  of  which  leads  him  to  say 
that  the  editor,  speaking  generally,  is  a  per- 
petual puzzle. 

They  tell  a  story  of  Mr.  Flower  which 
illustrates  not  only  his  sagacity  but  also 
the  power  of  his  former  love  —  the  press. 
How  a  reporter  came  to  nominate  a  Pres- 
ident of  the  United  States  would  be  a  piece 
of  fiction,  but  how  one  came  to  nominate 
the  President  of  the  Board  of  Lady  Mana- 
gers of  the  World's  Columbian  Exposition 
is  a  true  tale ;  and  that  position  was  to  the 
ladies  of  the  land  hardly  less  desirable  and 
important  than  the  one  in  Washington  is 
and  always  will  be  to  men. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  World's  Fair 
movement,  the  story  runs,  two  rival  organi- 
zations of  women  were  formed  in  Chicago 
to  take  care  of  the  interests  of  their  sex. 
Each  sought  government  recognition,  and 

173 


LITTLE     PILGEIMAGES 

when  provision  was  made  for  the  Board  of 
Lady  Managers  each  sought  to  gain  con- 
trol of  that  body.  Each  had  a  candidate 
for  the  presidency,  but  the  lady  who  seemed 
to  have  a  clear  lead  was  persona  non 
grata  to  the  Chicago  reporters.  They 
had  found  her  extremely  disagreeable 
when  it  was  necessary  to  go  to  her  for 
news,  for  she  regarded  them  as  interlopers 
and  nothing  less.  In  the  circumstances  it 
was  decided  in  the  Chicago  newspaper 
circle  to  defeat  the  arrogant  lady,  but  to 
do  that  it  was  necessary  to  find  a  stronger 
candidate. 

"  Mrs.  Potter  Palmer  would  make  a 
good  president,"  suggested  Mr.  Flower  one 
day. 

"  Ideal !  "  was  the  unanimous  reply ; 
and  that  was  the  beginning. 

It  was  conceded  that  the  influence  of  the 
National  Commission  would  be  paramount, 
174 


ELLIOTT     FLOWER 

and  so  the  reporters  scattered  to  interview 
the  commissioners.  They  simply  inquired 
whether  it  was  true  that  Mrs.  Palmer 
would  be  favoured  for  the  position.  The 
commissioners  replied  that  it  was  news  to 
them,  but  that  Mrs.  Palmer  was  a  charm- 
ing and  capable  lady.  If  any  such  move- 
ment was  on  foot  they  wished  to  join  it. 
That  was  enough  for  the  reporters,  and  the 
next  morning  the  papers  announced  that 
the  commission  was  virtually  unanimous 
for  Mrs.  Potter  Palmer.  The  commission- 
ers fell  into  line  enthusiastically.  Each 
credited  some  other  with  the  "  happy 
thought,"  but  none  knew  the  truth.  Lady 
managers  arriving  from  other  States  relied 
on  the  commissioners  from  their  States  for 
advice  in  the  matter,  and  their  reliance  was 
not  in  vain.  Mrs.  Palmer,  nominated  by 
Mr.  Flower  and  his  fellow  reporters  and 
supported  by  the  commissioners,  was 

175 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

elected  by  the  lady  managers ;  and  it  was 
afterward  conceded  that  the  choice  was 
the  best  that  could  have  been  made. 

To  revert  to  Mr.  Flower's  literary  work, 
it  reveals  a  diversity  of  power  that  in  itself 
constitutes  no  mean  promise  of  uncommon 
success.  This  observant,  spirited,  sympa- 
thetic writer  touches  human  interest  on 
every  side  —  as  a  successful  journalist 
trains  himself  to  do;  but  where  the  jour- 
nalist stops  the  novelist  begins,  and  for 
his  equipment  as  a  novelist  Mr.  Flower  has 
his  rich  fund  of  humour  and  his  ingenious 
mind.  That  the  author  of  some  delightful 
character  sketches  should  also  be  the  author 
of  the  most  powerful  and  successful  polit- 
ical novel  of  the  day  is  sufficient  credit  for 
a  young  man. 

"  The  Spoilsmen "  is  an  opportune 
book.  It  is  an  indictment,  in  romantic 
form,  of  the  average  administering  of  city 
170 


ELLIOTT     FLOWEK 

government.  It  follows  close  on  the  scan- 
dals disclosed  in  Minneapolis  and  in  St. 
Louis,  and  it  accompanies  the  charges 
which  are  continually  being  made  against 
city  officials  in  Chicago,  in  New  York,  in 
Philadelphia,  and  in  Boston. 

"  Corbett  was  clever  and  well-posted. 
He  knew  all  the  local  politicians  and  offi- 
cials, and  was  familiar  with  the  gossip 
concerning  them."  Corbett  is  the  journal- 
ist in  "  The  Spoilsmen,"  and  it  is  fair  to 
assume  that  as  he  was  well-posted,  so  is 
Mr.  Flower.  A  journalist  of  long  experi- 
ence cannot  but  be  well-posted,  and,  unless 
he  take  sides  with  one  party  or  the  other, 
cannot  fail  to  present  the  most  damning 
evidence  concerning  municipal  corruption. 
This  is  Corbett  again :  "  He  was  inclined 
to  be  cynical,  but  never  bitter.  Cynicism 
comes  naturally  to  the  experienced  re- 
porter. He  sees  so  much  of  pretence  and 

177 


LITTLE     PILGEIMAGES 

insincerity  in  the  line  of  his  work,  espe- 
cially political  work,  that  in  time  he  finds 
himself  doubting  the  possibility  of  an  un- 
selfish and  disinterested  action.  Still,  Cor- 
bett  was  only  mildly  cynical;  not  of- 
fensively pessimistic."  No  doubt  this 
fairly  describes  Mr.  Flower's  own  feelings ; 
although  the  effect  made  by  "  The  Spoils- 
men "  is  not  cynicism,  but  pessimism. 

However,  it  should  be  borne  in  mind  that 
Mr.  Flower,  in  touching  on  political 
schemes,  is  a  reporter,  not  a  reformer. 
He  deals  with  effects,  not  with  causes.  He 
simply  holds  the  mirror  up  to  political  life 
in  a  big  American  city.  When  he  di- 
gresses, he  is,  like  Corbett,  cynical  with- 
out bitterness.  Thus  his  description  of 
the  manner  in  which  what  is  known  as 
"  society  "  took  the  candidacy  of  the  fash- 
ionable but  conscientious  Darnell: 

"  Society  was  uncertain  how  to  take  the 
178 


ELLIOTT     FLOWER 

candidacy  of  Harold  Darnell.  Of  course, 
society  likes  to  experience  new  sensations, 
for  they  serve  to  drive  away  the  ennui  of 
existence ;  and  at  first  he  was  a  mixture  of 
amusement  and  enthusiasm.  He  was 
'  our '  candidate.  While  society  is  far 
from  being  confined  to  one  ward,  neverthe- 
less he  was  '  our '  candidate  wherever 
society  gathered.  If  truth  be  told,  a  good 
many  of  those  who  were  most  enthusiastic 
did  not  know  whether  he  belonged  to  their 
wards  or  not  —  and  did  not  care.  He  was 
their  representative,  just  the  same.  They 
laughed,  but  they  admired.  It  was  a  joke, 
but  it  was  also  something  more  than  a 
joke.  In  fact,  society  was  puzzled,  and  its 
emotions  were  conflicting.  It  gave  both 
raillery  and  applause,  and  it  was  not  quite 
certain  which  expressed  its  real  sentiments. 
Society  is  always  fearful  of  making  a  mis- 
take in  passing  judgment  on  anything  out 

179 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

of  the  usual  line.  In  consequence,  the 
safest  rule  seems  to  be  to  either  ignore  or 
condemn  everything  that  is  not  strictly 
conventional." 

Darnell,  being  an  earnest  fellow,  and 
not  averse  to  playing  the  honourable  tricks 
of  "  the  game/'  associates  more  or  less  with 
a  politician  named  Ryan,  and  together  they 
meet  and  greet  the  humble  constituents 
(it  is  always  the  constituents  that  are 
humble,  though  the  politician  is  sup- 
posed to  be  their  servant),  and  they  even 
foregather  with  other  bosses  and  candi- 
dates in  Casey's  saloon.  Then  "  society  " 
turned  its  back  on  him.  "  Just  what  so- 
ciety expected,  society  itself  could  not  say, 
but  it  certainly  was  not  this.  That  he 
should  be  popular  was  quite  proper,  but 
he  should  be  popular  in  a  dignified  way. 
There  should  be  something  of  condescen- 
sion in  his  manner.  So  society  began  to 
180 


ELLIOTT     FLO WEE 

shrug  its  shoulders  and  gossip.  It  was  not 
prepared  to  condemn  him  outright,  but  it 
could  mildly  and  inferentially  voice  its 
disapproval,  especially  when  he  was  not 
present.  Society  can  be  anything  but 
frank  and  straightforward." 

Which  is  all  so  cynical,  and  so  true! 
This  is  no  place  for  a  dissertation  on  the 
political  shortcomings  of  any  class,  but  if 
the  philosophical  reformers,  the  earnest, 
honest,  non-professional  reformers  are  seek- 
ing an  excellent  text  for  a  tract  they  should 
turn  to  the  tenth  chapter  of  "  The  Spoils- 
men," which  is  entitled  "  The  Verdict  of 
Society." 

Mr.  Flower  was  a  journalist;  now  he 
is  a  novelist.  Zola  trod  the  same  path,  and 
Zola  the  novelist  wielded  far  more  power 
than  Zola  the  journalist  could  ever  have 
wielded.  Not  all  the  editorials  written 


181 


LITTLE     PILGKIMAGES 

throughout  Christendom,  and  all  the 
poems,  struck  such  a  blow  as  he  struck 
when  he  took  his  stand  by  the  side  of 
Dreyfus  and  made  his  famous  speech.  He 
was  an  ardent  believer  in  the  novel  with 
a  purpose. 

Now  "  The  Spoilsmen  "  is  a  novel  with 
a  purpose,  which  purpose  is  to  expose  the 
hollowness  and  viciousness  of  the  present 
system  of  municipal  government  in  the 
United  States.  The  picture  which  Mr. 
Flower  draws  is  not  a  pleasant  one,  on 
the  whole,  for  despite  the  admirable  cour- 
age of  Mason,  the  hardware  retailer  who 
opposes  "  the  gang  "  and  is  ruined ;  the 
equally  admirable  courage  and  novel,  Uto 
pian  enterprise  of  Darnell,  the  wealthy 
young  lawyer,  who,  like  Mason,  finds  one 
term  in  the  council  enough;  the  tender 
devotion  of  Mrs.  Mason,  and  the  clever, 

182 


ELLIOTT     FLOWEB 

charming  ways  of  Miss  Josephine  Hadley, 
whom  Darnell  gains  when  all  seemed  lost, 
—  in  spite  of  these  bright,  cheerful  flashes, 
the  effects  that  remain  uppermost  in  the 
reader's  mind  in  the  end  are  much  the 
same  as  those  of  a  wet  and  windy  night  in 
autumn.  Virtue  wins  the  best  rewards, 
which  are  peace  of  mind  and  a  woman's 
virginal  heart ;  but  the  city  remains  in  the 
hands  of  "  the  gang,"  the  victim  of  indif- 
ference and  partisanship  and  chicanery 
and  downright  rascality. 

Mr.  Flower  is  married,  and  he  does  his 
literary  work  in  an  office  in  a  down-town 
building  in  Chicago.  When  Mrs.  Flower 
read  "  The  Spoilsmen  "  she  was  surprised 
to  learn  that  he  knew  so  much  —  or  any- 
thing, rather  —  about  politics.  Evidently 
he  has  a  happy  way  of  leaving  literary 
work  behind  him  in  his  office  at  dinner- 

183 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

time.  As  a  former  contributor  to  the 
comic  weeklies  he  must  have  determined 
never  to  present  any  excuse  for  the  sur- 
vival of  the  literary  husband  Joke. 


184 


JOHN    FOX,    JR. 


JOHN    FOX,     JK. 


;£  S  a  general  rule,"  said  one  of 

y'jf  Shelley's  friends,  "  it  is  wise  to 
avoid  writers  whose  works 
amuse  or  delight  you,  for  should  you  see 
them  they  will  delight  you  no  more." 

There  is  enough  truth  in  the  observa- 
tion to  make  it  a  general  rule,  but  an  ex- 
ception to  the  rule  is  John  Fox,  Jr. 

The  fact  is,  Mr.  Fox  has  all  the  traits 
of  a  born  actor.  We  do  not  mean  the 
public  pose,  the  salient  mannerisms,  the 
eccentric  dress  often  noticed  in  actors,  but 
a  natural  aptitude  for  mimicry  and  an 
ease  and  grace  of  manner  suitable  to  the 
impersonation  of  any  dramatic  character. 

To  a  friend  of  his  who  knew  him  inti- 

185 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

mately  at  Harvard  we  are  indebted  for 
the  following  information : 

"  While  at  Harvard,  Mr.  Fox  displayed 
histrionic  talent  of  a  high  order,  having 
been  '  leading  -lady '  of  the  dramatic  so- 
ciety of  his  class.  There  has  been  made 
a  college  sketch  of  Mr.  Fox,  showing  him 
in  a  quaint  old-fashioned  woman's  garb, 
with  odd  little  ringlets  hanging  down  all 
over  his  head,  and  a  most  absurd  bonnet 
perched  upon  its  top.  It  is  the  portrayal 
of  the  character  of  Madame  Perrichon  in 
that  familiar  comedy,  '  Papa  Perrichon/ 
T.  Eussell  Sullivan  translated  the  work  for 
the  Boston  Museum,  and  it  was  his  ver- 
sion that  the  famous  Harvard  society  to 
which  he  belonged  used  on  its  travels,  for 
Fox  and  the  other  boys  made  a  trip  i  down 
East '  to  Exeter,  Portland,  Bangor,  and 
Augusta,  having  a  great  amount  of  fun, 
a  vast  deal  of  experience,  and  a  rather  un- 
186 


JOHN    FOX,     JR. 


pleasant  financial  loss  in  the  mock  theat- 
rical excursion.  A  sturdy,  squar&shoul- 
dered  young  fellow  would  seem  to  be  an 
odd  figure  in  petticoats,  but  every  one  who 
has  seen  the  Harvard  theatricals  knows 
how  cleverly  athletes  are  often  turned  into 
buxom  young  maidens." 

Mr.  Fox's  success  on  the  college  stage 
has  been  repeated  on  the  wider  American 
platform.  Not  since  Mr.  Cable's  ablest 
days  has  the  American  platform  held  so 
delightful  a  reader  of  his  own  writings  as 
Mr.  Fox. 

As  for  his  ability  as  a  twofold  inter- 
preter of  Kentucky  mountain  life,  the  fore- 
most Kentucky  writer,  James  Lane  Allen, 
has  said :  "  Not  only  is  he  a  very  beautiful 
reader,  but  he  is  the  first  public  reader  of 
the  dialect  of  the  Tennessee  and  Kentucky 
mountaineers  that  has  yet  appeared.  Now, 
in  no  species  of  American  short  story  has 

187 


LITTLE    PILGBIMAGES 

there  been  greater  need  of  an  interpreter 
of  the  dialect  than  in  that  of  the  Cumber- 
land Mountains;  and  this  interpretation 
Mr.  Fox  is  admirably  prepared  to  give. 
For  he  has  lived  several  years  among  the 
native  folk,  has  talked  with  them,  has  stud- 
ied them,  and  become  himself  their  literary 
interpreter  through  his  splendid  work  in 
the  magazines." 

Mr.  Fox  is  a  native  of  Stony  Point, 
Bourbon  County,  Kentucky,  and  in  that 
healthy  Blue-grass  world  he  was  reared. 
He  was  graduated  from  Harvard  in  1883, 
and  after  a  short  term  in  the  Columbia 
Law  School  took  a  hand  in  the  intense 
struggle  of  New  York  newspaper  life. 
Early  in  the  nineties  there  was  a  great 
boom  in  the  region  of  the  Cumberland 
Mountains,  and  the  Kentuckian,  in  the 
company  of  some  other  college  men,  tried 
to  take  advantage  of  it.  The  result  of 
188 


JOHN     FOX,     JE. 


that  boom  is  that  it  made  an  author  of 
the  young  man. 

"  It's  a  fact,"  said  the  young  novelist 
to  us,  once  upon  a  time,  "  that  a  stern 
sense  of  duty  will  make  men  courageous 
—  make  heroes  of  them,  even.  I've  ob- 
served that  at  Big  Stone  Gap.  The  Gap  is 
in  the  Cumberland  Mountains,  Virginia, 
about  twenty  miles  from  the  Kentucky 
line.  I  went  down  there  some  years  ago 
with  about  thirty  other  college  men  — 
mostly  from  Harvard  and  Yale  and  Colum- 
bia. The  place  was  absolutely  lawless. 
The  men  who  were  carrying  on  feuds  there 
used  to  pursue  one  another  all  over  the 
mountains  and  terrorize  the  people.  Now, 
we  were  down  there  for  business.  So  we 
organized  a  police  force.  I  think  there 
was  nothing  ever  like  it.  We  were  some- 
thing more  than  a  vigilance  committee. 
We  each  had  a  Winchester,  a  badge,  and 

189 


LITTLE    PILGRIMAGES 

a  club,  and  we  each  took  turn  in  patrolling 
the  town.  When  a  citizen  got  too  offensive, 
we  marched  him  off  to  the  calaboose ;  and 
at  first  the  calaboose  couldn't  hold  all  our 
prisoners.  If  a  man  showed  any  disposi- 
tion to  defy  us,  we  simply  hit  him  on  the 
head.  The  next  day,  perhaps,  he  would 
come  to  town  in  an  orderly  manner,  and 
the  very  one  of  us  that  knocked  him  down 
and  thrashed  him  would  say  '  Howdy '  to 
him.  That  disarmed  him  of  suspicion. 
He  might  have  thought  that  we  were  bent 
on  a  wholesale  feud,  but  when  he  found 
out  that  we  let  him  have  his  own  way  so 
long  as  he  was  on  his  good  behaviour,  then 
the  great  light  of  law  and  order  came  down 
upon  him.  In  a  year  and  a  half  we  had 
Big  Stone  Gap  ideally  quiet.  A  woman 
could  walk  around  town  at  any  time  of 
the  night  or  day  and  never  be  insulted. 
That's  what  a  college  police  force  did  for 
190 


JOHN    FOX,     JK. 


a  wild  nest  in  the  Cumberland  Moun- 
tains. 

"  Outside  of  Big  Stone  Gap,  the  inhab- 
itants, as  a  rule,  live  far  apart.  The  moun- 
taineer prefers  to  have  his  neighbours  at 
least  a  few  miles  off.  That  was  Daniel 
Boone's  preference,  too,  you  remember. 
When  he  found  a  family  within  some  miles 
of  him  he  moved  farther  West.  His  name, 
by  the  way,  is  borne  by  families  in  the 
mountains.  I  drew  the  character  of 
Boone  Stallard,  in  '  The  Kentuckians,' 
for  instance,  from  a  young  man  named 
Boone  Logan." 

It  is  a  remarkable  feature  of  Mr.  Fox's 
literary  career  that  he  has  never  had  a 
manuscript  rejected.  His  first  story,  bear- 
ing the  felicitous  title,  "  A  Mountain 
Europa,"  was  promptly  accepted  by  the 
publishers  of  the  Century  Magazine  when 
he  submitted  it  to  them  a  dozen  years  ago. 

191 


LITTLE     PILGEIMAGES 

Later  appeared  two  collections  of  moun- 
tain tales,  one  entitled  "  Hell  fer  Sartain," 
and  the  other  "  A  Cumberland  Vendetta." 
His  first  novel  was  "  The  Kentuckians," 
which  was  first  published  serially  in  Har- 
per's Monthly.  The  curiously  abrupt  end- 
ing of  "  The  Kentuckians  "  has  aroused 
much  comment.  Readers  are  left  in  doubt 
as  to  which  of  the  two  heroes,  Marshall,  the 
son  of  Kentucky  blue  blood,  or  Stallard, 
the  sturdy  mountaineer,  is  to  win  the 
daughter  of  the  governor.  "  I  did  not 
mean  to  make  the  matter  puzzling,"  Mr. 
Fox  has  explained  to  a  friend.  "  To  those 
who  have  written  me  as  if  an  enigma 
existed,  I  refer  them  to  '  Stallard  shook 
his  head/  '  his  home  and  hers,'  and  why 
6  Katherine's  eyes  filled  with  tears.'  Ro- 
mantic young  women,  overcome  with  sym- 
pathy for  Stallard,  may  take  comfort 
thusly :  '  Long,  long  afterwards,  when 
192 


JOHN     FOX,     JR. 


Stallard  was  a  Cabinet  Minister,  he  was 
persuaded  one  night  to  attend  some  social 
function.  Looking  through  the  door,  he 
saw  a  beautiful  woman,  familiar  in  face 
and  figure.  And  she  was  dressed  in 
black.'  " 

Mr.  Fox's  next  novel,  "  Crittenden,"  was 
published  in  1900.  It  was  a  new  departure 
altogether.  The  writer  had  left  his  famil- 
iar mountains  and  followed  the  history  of 
two  young  Kentuckians  of  fine  blood 
through  the  Spanish  War.  This  novel 
grew  out  of  the  novelist's  experiences  as 
a  war  correspondent.  Here  and  there  in 
the  pictures  of  Kentucky  is  a  suggestion 
of  the  charming  art  of  James  Lane  Allen ; 
and  the  battle-field  scenes  are  described 
with  a  vividness  which  thrills  the  reader 
through  and  through. 

The  battle  scenes  in  "  Crittenden,"  in- 
deed, are  worthy  of  a  place  among  the 

193 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

best  descriptions  of  war.  They  show  a 
facile  and  powerful  pen,  a  highly  trained 
power  of  observation,  and  a  heart  teeming 
with  manliness  and  human  sympathy. 
There  is  strength  of  character  in  abun- 
dance, as  well  as  strength  of  action.  Here 
is  a  striking  picture: 

"  It  had  been  a  slow,  toilsome  march 
up  that  narrow  lane  of  death,  and,  so  far, 
Crittenden  had  merely  been  sprinkled  with 
Mauser  and  shrapnel.  His  regiment  had 
begun  to  deploy  to  the  left,  down  the  bed 
of  a  stream.  The  negro  cavalry  and  the 
Rough  Riders  were  deploying  to  the  right. 
Now  broke  the  storm.  Imagine  sheet  after 
sheet  of  hailstones,  coated  with  polished 
steel,  and  swerved  when  close  to  the  earth 
at  a  sharp  angle  to  the  line  of  descent,  and 
sweeping  the  air  horizontally  with  an  awful 
hiss  —  swifter  in  flight  than  a  peal  of 
thunder  from  sky  to  earth,  and  hardly  less 
194 


JOHN    FOX,     JK. 


swift  than  the  lightning  flash  that  caused 
it 

"  '  T-t-seu-u-u-h !  T-t-seu-oo !  T-t-seu- 
oo ! 9  —  they  went  like  cloud  after  cloud  of 
lightning-winged  insects,  and  passing,  by 
God's  mercy  and  the  Spaniard's  bad 
marksmanship  —  passing  high.  Between 
two  crashes  came  a  sudden  sputter,  and 
some  singing  thing  began  to  play  up  and 
down  through  the  trees,  and  to  right  and 
left,  in  a  steady  hum.  It  was  a  machine- 
gun  playing  for  the  range  —  like  a  mighty 
hose-pipe,  watering  earth  and  trees  with 
a  steady  spreading  jet  of  hot  lead.  It 
was  like  some  strange,  huge  monster,  un- 
seeing and  unseen,  who  knows  where  his 
prey  is  hidden  and  is  searching  for  it 
blindly  —  by  feeling  or  by  sense  of  smell 
—  coming  ever  nearer,  showering  the 
leaves  down,  patting  into  the  soft  earth 
ahead,  swishing  to  right  and  to  left,  and 

195 


LITTLE    PILGRIMAGES 

at  last  playing  in  a  steady  stream  about 
the  prostrate  soldiers. 

"  '  Swish-ee !     Swish-ee !     Swish-ee !  >  » 
The  character  of  Graf  ton,  one  of  the  war 
correspondents,  may  be  accepted  as  exem- 
plifying the  novelist's  personal  trials  and 
adventures. 

"Blue-grass  and  Rhododendron,"  the 
volume  of  Kentucky  sketches  published  in 
1901,  is  worthy  of  the  attention  of  the 
good  people  who  regard  the  Cumberland 
mountaineer  as  the  rankest  sort  of  outlaw. 
According  to  Mr.  Fox,  the  Kentucky 
mountaineer  "  has  been  more  isolated  than 
the  mountaineer  of  any  other  State.  There 
are  regions  more  remote  and  more  sparsely 
settled,  but  nowhere  in  the  Southern  moun- 
tains has  so  large  a  body  of  mountaineers 
been  shut  off  so  completely  from  the  out- 
side world.  As  a  result,  he  illustrates 
Mr.  Theodore  Roosevelt's  fine  observation 
196 


JOHN    FOX,    JR. 


that  life  away  from  civilization  simply  em- 
phasizes the  natural  qualities,  good  and 
bad,  of  an  individual.  The  effect  of  this 
truth  seems  perceptible  in  that  any  trait 
common  to  the  Southern  mountaineer 
seems  to  be  intensified  in  the  mountaineer 
of  Kentucky.  He  is  more  clannish, 
prouder,  more  hospitable,  fiercer,  more 
loyal  as  a  friend,  more  bitter  as  an  enemy, 
and  in  meanness  —  when  he  is  mean, 
mind  you  —  he  can  out-Herod  his  race 
with  great  ease." 

In  "  The  Little  Shepherd  of  Kingdom 
Come/'  Mr.  Fox  revisits  the  scene  of  his 
early  successes.  It  is  his  most  ambitious 
effort,  and,  on  the  whole,  his  best.  With 
breadth  of  vision  naturally  develops 
breadth  of  power ;  these  promising  transi- 
tions are  to  be  seen  plainly  in  each  new 
work  of  the  Kentuckian. 

He  did  not  find  the  Cumberlands  un- 

197 


LITTLE    PILGRIMAGES 

trodden  literary  ground.  Miss  Murfree 
(Charles  Egbert  Craddock)  had  been  in 
that  vicinity  before  him.  But,  as  Mr. 
Howells  with  his  exquisite  discernment  has 
said,  Mr.  Fox  arrived  when  the  right 
methods  of  fiction  had  been  ascertained; 
he  was  not  obliged  to  "  outlive  the  false 
school  in  which  we  of  another  generation 
were  bred,  and  whose  influence  Miss  Mur- 
free did  not  escape."  As  Mr.  Howells 
delicately  puts  it :  "  It  is  high  testimony 
to  the  truth  of  her  art  that  one  working 
in  the  same  field  confirms  the  impression 
of  its  reality  by  his  later  observation  and 
report,  and  it  is  no  question  of  his  origi- 
nality that  at  his  best  he  makes  you  think 
of  her." 

Mr.  Fox  does  his  literary  work  at  all 

seasons  of  the  year.     During  the  winter 

he  divides  his  time  mostly  between  New 

York  and  Big  Stone  Gap  (the  bottom  has 

198 


JOHN    FOX,    JR. 


not  entirely  dropped  out  of  that  once  pros- 
perous mineral  mining-town,  and  there, 
too,  the  climate  is  always  refreshing). 
Last  winter  he  and  Thomas  Nelson  Page 
gave  some  readings  together  in  Washing- 
ton. In  the  summer  he  enjoys  outdoor  life 
to  the  full,  as  his  occasional  stories  in 
Outing  suggest. 

We  have  before  referred  to  the  discovery 
in  Mr.  Fox's  latest  work  of  traces  of  the 
influence  of  James  Lane  Allen.  Needless 
to  say,  the  younger  holds  the  older  writer 
in  the  highest  regard,  nor  could  he  have 
a  purer  model.  Socially  the  chronicler  of 
Big  Stone  Gap  is  popular.  Once  met,  his 
presence  is  ever  welcoma  His  manner  is 
frank,  hearty,  cheerful,  honest,  manly. 
To  twist  what  Samuel  Rogers  said  of 
Jacqueline,  to  know  him  is  to  love  him  — 
though  he  is  unmarried.  A  brother,  Rector 
K.  Fox,  is  senior  member  of  the  publish- 

199 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

ing  house  of  Fox  &  Duffield,  New  York. 

As  a  writer  Mr.  Fox  is  steadily  earnest 
and  ambitious.  Like  Doctor  Hale's  model 
person,  he  looks  upward,  not  down,  for- 
ward, not  back,  and  his  aim  is  in  each  new 
effort  to  eclipse  himself.  A  writer  of  this 
stamp,  endowed  with  natural  gifts,  is 
bound  to  succeed. 


200 


HKNRY    HARLAND. 


HENKY    HAKLAND 


rHE  following  belated  and  conven- 
tional   notice    appeared    in    the 
weekly  literary  supplement  of  one 
of  the  New  York  daily  papers  last  Decem- 
ber: 

"  Mr.  Henry  Harland,  whose  stories, 
'The  Cardinal's  Snuff-box'  and  '  The 
Lady  Paramount,'  have  delighted  the 
English-speaking  world,  arrived  in  the 
city  last  Monday  after  a  very  stormy 
passage  on  La,  Champagne.  Mr.  Harland 
is  an  American,  and  his  literary  appren- 
ticeship was  served  in  New  York,  where 
he  studied  the  inexhaustible  Jewish  prob- 
lems and  presented  his  view  of  them  in 
some  very  strong  fiction  published  under 

201 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

the  pseudonym  of  Sydney  Luska.  It  was 
then  that  he  produced  '  The  Yoke  of 
Thorah,'  'As  It  Was  Written,'  etc.  To 
Mr.  Harland's  early  good  fortune  he  came 
under  the  influence  of  one  or  two  able 
litterateurs  who  have  since  earned  fame 
as  the  greatest  living  American  men  of 
letters,  and  who  advised  his  visiting 
Europe  and  England  with  a  view  to  study- 
ing the  artistic  and  literary  movements 
then  going  on  in  the  Old  World.  It  is 
said  that,  with  a  small  grip  in  his  hand 
—  his  entire  baggage  —  Mr.  Harland 
boarded  a  liner,  and,  so  potent  has  been 
the  siren  song  of  the  Eastern  world,  that 
there  he  has  remained  ever  since,  travelling 
from  one  lovely  and  historic  spot  to  an- 
other, drinking  in  the  refreshing  beauties, 
and  from  time  to  time  greeting  his  less 
fortunate  toilers  in  the  land  of  his  birth 
with  the  tales  of  his  imagination.  Mr. 
202 


HENKY    HA BLAND 

Harland  finds  a  very  wide  and  cordial 
welcome  here." 

By  birth  Mr.  Harland  is  an  American 
of  Americans,  as  he  comes  from  the  Nor- 
wich (Connecticut)  Harlands,  who  are 
descended  from  the  first  Pilgrims  —  in- 
deed, from  so  historical  a  couple  as  John 
Alden  and  Priscilla  Mullens,  hero  and 
heroine  of  the  Longfellow  poem;  but  by 
proclivity  he  is  distinctly  European.  For 
years  his  home  has  been  in  England,  and 
his  heart  in  Italy.  His  most  interesting 
works,  "  As  It  Was  Written  "  (1885)  and 
"The  Cardinal's  Snuff-box"  (1900),  are 
respectively  a  story  of  Jewish  life  in  New 
York  and  of  English  life  in  Italy. 

Harry  Harland,  as  he  is  still  called  by 
his  friends  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic, 
was  born  in  St.  Petersburg,  Bussia,  on 
March  1,  1861.  His  father  was  Thomas 
Harland,  of  Norwich,  in  his  day  a  well- 

203 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

known  lawyer  and  mathematician.  After 
the  ordinary  American  boy's  term  in  the 
public  schools,  Harry  entered  the  College 
of  the  City  of  New  York,  which  he  left 
at  the  end  of  his  sophomore  year.  Then 
he  spent  a  year  at  Harvard.  In  1882,  hav- 
ing arrived  at  his  majority,  he  decided  to 
spend  a  year  abroad. 

They  say  that  of  the  next  few  years 
"  Grandison  Mather  "  is  autobiographical ; 
but  there  is  some  discrepancy  between  the 
account  of  the  year  which  young  Mather 
spent  in  Paris  and  Mr.  Harland's  state- 
ment to  a  friend  that  most  of  his  first 
year  abroad  was  spent  in  Rome.  How- 
ever, he  must  have  spent  some  time  in 
Paris,  for  only  an  observer,  a  close,  satu- 
rated, enthusiastic  observer  could  have 
written  "  A  Latin-Quarter  Courtship," 
one  of  his  early  books,  of  which  it  was 
remarked  by  one  respected  New  York 
204 


HENRY    HARLAND 

critic :  "  By  the  delightful,  tripping,  care- 
less nothings  that  belong  to  the  talk  of 
living  youth,  by  a  bonhomie  that  lets  us 
share  his  enthusiasm,  making  us  almost 
partakers  of  his  inspiration,  by  a  delicacy 
of  touch  that  fairly  eludes  description,  by 
the  ideality  of  his  realism,  —  in  fact,  by 
that  ineffable  quality  of  the  French  known 
as  temperament,  —  Mr.  Harland  has  in 
this  story  given  us  what  we  shall  not  soon 
forget." 

In  Rome  the  young  man  joined  a  club, 
and  sat  at  the  tables  of  some  of  the  most 
aristocratic  families.  There,  too,  he  made 
his  informal  entrance  into  literature,  writ- 
ing letters  for  the  New  York  Tribune,  and 
articles  (translated  by  a  friend)  for  Italian 
papers. 

Eeturning  to  New  York,  he  found  a 
place  in  the  surrogate's  office;  and  the 
next  year,  1884,  he  married.  His  wife,  as 

205 


LITTLE     PILGRIMAGES 

he  once  described  her,  is  half-American 
and  half -French;  maiden  name,  Aline 
Merriam.  Her  grandfather  was  a  mem- 
ber of  the  French  Academy.  Is  she  sil- 
houetted in  Miss  Rose  Cartret  —  "  Mas- 
sachusetts family  "  —  who  married  Gran- 
dison  Mather? 

Like  Grandison  Mather,  Harry  Harland 
scribbled  in  his  boyhood.  Presumably  the 
account  of  Mather's  scribblings  in  Paris 
would  nearly  fit  what  the  real  young  man 
did  — -  "  He  would  get  an  idea,  a  plot,  a 
motive,  for  an  essay,  a  short  story,  a  novel, 
an  epic,  a  lyric;  and,  all  aflame  with  en- 
thusiasm for  it,  he  would  sit  down  to  write 
it  out.  But  conception  and  execution  are 
two  quite  dissimilar  processes,  as  every- 
body knows;  one  being  a  sudden,  short- 
lived ecstasy,  the  other  a  long,  hard,  up- 
hill labour.  After  he  had  dashed  off  a 
few  fervid  pages,  he  would  inevitably  en- 
206 


HENRY    HARLAND 

counter  a  stumbling-block,  and  be  brought 
up  with,  a  round  turn.  Then,  while  he 
was  casting  about  for  a  method  of  sur- 
mounting it,  a  new  idea,  a  new  plot,  a  new 
motive,  would  flash  into  his  head,  and  cut 
out  the  old  one,  —  for  in  matters  of  this 
sort,  at  any  rate,  last  love  is  best.  And 
thereupon  the  half-begun  manuscript 
would  be  shoved  ignominiously  into  a  cor- 
ner, and  an  equally  brief  reign  of  favour 
would  commence  for  its  successor.  You 
see,  he  liked  nothing  better  than  to  build 
literary  castles  in  the  air;  but  he  lacked 
the  patience  to  toil  and  moil  day  after 
day,  until  he  had  forced  one  of  them  to 
materialize  in  ink  on  paper.  .  .  .  Again, 
as  he  looked  into  the  future  from  the  van- 
tage-ground of  one-and-twenty,  he  saw  no 
bourne.  There  was  plenty  of  time.  The 
thought  of  that  moment  when  work  and 
will  might  awake  too  late,  '  to  gaze  upon 

207 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

their  life  sailed  by/  never  disturbed  him. 
Besides,  he  did  not  regard  himself  as  idle. 
Even  though  he  never  did,  he  was  always 
going  to,  accomplish  something.  His  next 
venture  in  authorship  he  always  intended 
to  carry  to  a  successful  termination.  And 
then  he  was  laying  up  material.  He  was 
seeing  the  world,  and  he  was  acquiring 
a  wide  familiarity  with  the  literature  of 
France.  The  number  of  yellow-covered 
French  books  that  he  read  was  indeed  pro- 
digious." 

His  first  published  story  —  a  short  one 
—  was  bought  by  S.  S.  McClure  for  a 
newspaper  syndicate.  Probably  few  of 
his  present  thousands  of  admirers  ever 
read  "  A  Week  in  a  Day."  He  began  his 
first  novel,  "  As  It  Was  Written,"  soon 
after  his  marriage.  To  know  his  environ- 
ment at  that  time,  and  his  experiences,  one 

208 


HENKY    HAKLAND 

may  take  the  second  half  of  "  Grandison 
Mather  "  with  some  literalness. 

Certainly  we  may  accept  his  pictures  of 
the  city  officials  in  "  Grandison  Mather/' 
and  of  the  Grickels  —  the  simple-man- 
nered, big-hearted  German  Jews  —  as  veri- 
similar. His  portrait  of  Mr.  Montgomery 
Temple,  of  the  prothonotary's  office,  is 
fairly  sparkling. 

And  why  and  how  was  "As  It  Was 
Written  "  done  ?  The  plot  —  an  excellent 
one,  by  the  way  —  simmered  in  the  au- 
thor's mind  for  a  long  time.  The  actual 
writing  was  done  speedily,  fervidly.  This 
is  how  Grandison  Mather  —  this  is  how 
Harry  Harland  worked  on  that  first  book : 

"  He  would  reach  home  at  about  five 
o'clock  dead  tired,  as  has  been  said.  Till 
half-past  six  he  would  rest  in  his  easy 
chair  at  the  window,  overlooking  the  river ; 
perhaps  chatting  with  his  wife,  perhaps 

209 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

reading  a  book,  perhaps  taking  a  mite  of 
a  nap.  At  half -past  six  came  dinner; 
after  which,  fortifying  himself  with  a  cup 
of  black  coffee,  he  would  go  to  his  writing- 
table,  and  remain  there  until  midnight. 
But  he  soon  found  that  this  program  would 
not  answer.  There  were  two  fatal  ob- 
jections to  it.  To  begin  with,  he  ac- 
complished very  little;  and  that  little 
was  bad :  the  reason  being,  of  course,  that 
he  was  too  fatigued  to  do  his  best.  His 
freshest  energies  were  gone.  Only  the  dregs 
of  himself  were  left,  so  to  speak.  .  .  .  But, 
furthermore,  upon  quitting  his  work  at 
midnight,  and  going  to  bed,  he  couldn't 
sleep.  .  .  .  This,  of  course,  would  never 
do.  He  was  burning  the  candle  at  both 
ends;  and  unless  he  speedily  adopted  a 
wiser  and  more  provident  method,  it  would 
all  be  burnt  up.  The  method  which  he  pres- 
ently did  adopt  was  this :  he  went  to  bed 
210 


HENRY    HAELA1STD 

every  evening  at  seven  o'clock ;  rose  at  the 
summons  of  an  alarm-clock  at  two  the  next 
morning ;  and  then,  lighting  his  lamp  and 
brewing  himself  a  cup  of  coffee,  pegged 
away  at  his  manuscripts,  until  the  day 
broke,  and  it  behooved  him  to  get  ready  to 
go  down-town." 

Without  doubt  the  Everett  St.  Marc  of 
"  Grandison  Mather "  is  Mr.  Edmund 
Clarence  Stedman,  of  whom  Mr.  Harland 
once  said :  "  He  was  my  literary  sponsor, 
having  been  a  classmate  of  my  father ;  and 
he  has  since  been  my  helpful  literary 
friend.  I  owe  him  two-thirds  of  my  suc- 
cess." Mr.  Stedman  is  also  Harland's 
spiritual  godfather. 

"  As  It  Was  Written.  A  Jewish  Musi- 
cian's Story.  By  Sydney  Luska." 

That  was  the  announcement.  Why  the 
pseudonym?  Not,  surely,  for  the  reason 
which  the  hero  of  "  Grandison  Mather  " 

211 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

gave  to  his  wife  —  "  Because,  if  it  should 
be  a  failure,  I  don't  want  to  be  handi- 
capped by  it,  I  don't  want  to  be  saddled 
with  an  unsuccessful  book."  No,  not  for 
that  reason,  for  the  same  character  after- 
ward says :  "  But  if  it  succeeds,  I  can 
drop  the  nom-de-plume,  run  up  my  true 
colours,  and  no  one  will  be  the  loser." 
For  "  As  It  Was  Written  "  succeeded  — 
and  its  author  did  not  run  up  his  true 
colours.  George  Gary  Eggleston  said  that 
it  was  "  certainly  a  work  of  no  common 
sort,"  and  Mr.  Stedman  said  that  its  "  in- 
tensity, picturesqueness,  and  exciting  nar- 
ration are  in  sharp  contrast  with  the  works 
of  our  analytic  novelists ;  "  and  a  dozen 
other  acceptable  critics,  who  knew  not  Syd- 
ney Luska  from  the  town  clerk  of  Raw- 
hide, Colorado,  gave  out  praise  lavishly; 
yet,  in  spite  of  it  all,  it  was  "  Sydney 

212 


HEKEY    HARLANP 

Luska  "  that  wrote  "  Mrs.  Peixada  "  and 
"  The  Yoke  of  the  Thorah." 

With  the  exception  of  "  Grandison 
Mather,"  which  is  valuable  chiefly  for  its 
autobiographical  hints,  the  early  writings 
of  Mr.  Harland  are  at  best  fine  youthful 
promises,  though  "  As  It  Was  Written  " 
achieved  what  for  its  day  was  the  remark- 
ably large  sale  of  fifty  thousand  copies. 

Have  the  youthful  promises  been  ful- 
filled? To  the  last  letter.  To-day  Mr. 
Harland  is  not  only  the  maker  of  the 
most  ingenious  and  romantic  plots;  he 
is  the  master  of  a  most  charming 
style.  If  one  should  care  to  examine  into 
a  comparison  which  would  be  neither 
odious  nor  uncomplimentary,  let  him  put 
the  crudities  of  the  author's  first  books 
alongside  a  chapter  of  his  later  books. 
Mr.  Harland's  books  are  indeed  a  human 
document:  they  reveal  his  literary  and 

213 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

his  spiritual  development.  Only  a  master 
of  the  art  of  writing  could  have  produced 
the  opening  chapter  of  "  The  Lady  Para- 
mount " ;  only  a  beautiful  mind  could 
have  given  us  the  description  (in  the  same 
book)  of  the  Annunciation.  It  is  worthy 
to  be  mated  with  the  prayer  of  St.  Alphon- 
sus  de  Ligouri.  Do  you  remember  it  ? 

"  '  When  a  musician  composes  an  Ave 
Maria/  he  (Adrian,  the  hero's  chum)  in- 
structed them,  '  what  he  ought  to  try  for 
is  exactly  what  those  nice  old  fifteenth- 
century  painters  in  Italy  tried  for  when 
they  painted  their  Annunciations.  He 
should  try  to  represent  what  one  would 
have  heard,  if  one  had  been  there,  just  as 
they  tried  to  represent  what  one  would 
have  seen.  Now,  how  was  it  ?  What  would 
one  have  heard?  What  did  our  Blessed 
Lady  herself  hear?  Look.  It  was  the 
springtime,  and  it  was  the  end  of  day. 
214 


HENRY    HARLAND 

And  she  sat  in  her  garden.  And  God  sent 
His  angel  to  announce  the  "  great  thing  * 
to  her.  But  she  must  not  be  frightened. 
She,  so  dear  to  God,  the  little  maid  of 
fifteen,  all  wonder  and  shyness  and  inno- 
cence, she  must  not  be  frightened.  She 
sat  in  her  garden,  among  her  lilies.  Birds 
were  singing  around  her;  the  breeze  was 
whispering  lightly  in  the  palm-trees ;  near 
by  a  brook  was  plashing ;  from  the  village 
came  the  rumour  of  many  voices.  All  the 
pleasant,  familiar  sounds  of  nature  and  of 
life  were  in  the  air.  She  sat  there,  think- 
ing her  white  thoughts,  dreaming  her  holy 
day-dreams.  And,  half  as  it  were  in  a 
day-dream,  she  saw  an  Angel  come  and 
kneel  before  her.  But  she  was  not  fright- 
ened —  for  it  was  like  a  day-dream  — 
and  the  Angel's  face  was  so  beautiful  and 
so  tender  and  so  reverent,  she  could  not 
have  been  frightened,  even  if  it  had  seemed 

215 


LITTLE     PILGEI MAGES 

wholly  real.  He  knelt  before  her,  and  his 
lips  moved,  but,  as  in  a  dream,  silently. 
All  the  familiar  music  of  the  world  went 
on  —  the  bird-songs,  the  whisper  of  the 
wind,  the  babble  of  the  brook,  the  rumour 
of  the  village.  They  all  went  on  —  there 
was  no  pause,  no  hush,  no  change  — 
nothing  to  startle  her  —  only,  somehow, 
they  seemed  all  to  draw  together,  to  be- 
come a  single  sound.  All  the  sounds  of 
earth  and  heaven,  the  homely,  familiar 
sounds  of  earth,  but  the  choiring  of  the 
stars  too,  all  the  sounds  of  the  universe, 
at  that  moment,  as  the  Angel  knelt  before 
her,  drew  together  into  a  single  sound. 
And  "  Hail,"  it  said,  "  hail,  Mary,  full  of 
grace!"'" 

The  hour  had  long  been  coming,  but 
with  "The  Cardinal's  Snuff -Box,"  in  1900, 
Mr.  Harland  at  last  struck  twelve.    Doubt- 
less,   reader,    you   have   read   the   story: 
216 


HENEY    HAELAND 

doubtless  you  own  it  and  have  read  it 
twice.  It  is  a  triumph  —  a  pure  delight. 
So,  in  a  slightly  less  bright  key,  is  "  The 
Lady  Paramount,"  which  was  published 
last  year.  The  two  books  have  met  de- 
served success.  They  have  simplicity, 
cleverness,  freshness;  they  are  as  grace- 
ful as  swallows7  flights,  and  as  full  of  ten- 
derness and  of  ethereal  beauty  as  if  they 
had  been  done  by  some  gifted  nun.  ~Not 
Newman  himself  has  shown  more  elevated 
thought  or  more  felicity  of  expression; 
and  not  the  most  inveterate  naturalist  has 
shown  a  happier  knowledge  and  a  deeper 
sympathy  with  the  world  around  us.  Wit- 
ness, for  example,  the  somewhat  similar 
scenes  in  which  the  heroines  attract  the 
birds. 

The  author's  latest  work,  "  My  Friend 
Prospero,"  which  bids  fair  to  be  a  worthy 
successor  to  the  other  Anglo-Italian  ro- 

217 


LITTLE     PILGRIMAGES 

mances,  began  its  serial  issue  in  the  June 
McClure's. 

In  the  ever-expanding  world  of  litera- 
ture, Mr.  Harland  is  at  once  a  joy  and 
an  example. 


218 


ARTHUR  SHERBURNE  HARDY. 


ARTHUB    SHERBURNE    HARDY 


rHEY    tell    how    Lewis    Carroll 
amused    himself    between    hours 
devoted  to  mathematics  hy  writ- 
ing about  the  delightful  adventures  of  little 
Alice;    and  with  what  fortunate  results, 
for  though  Dodridge  is  a  name  still  recog- 
nized by   scientists,   Lewis   Carroll  is   a 
name  beloved  from  New  York  to  Mel- 
bourne. 

In  1881  Arthur  Sherburne  Hardy  came 
into  scientific  prominence  as  the  author  of 
"Elements  of  Quaternions,"  a  work  so 
excellent  that  it  was  adopted  as  a  text- 
book at  West  Point,  at  Annapolis,  and  at 
Woolwich,  in  England.  This  work  was 
followed  before  long  by  an  annotated  trans- 
lation of  Argand's  "  Theory  of  Imagina- 

219 


LITTLE     PILGBIMAGES 

tive  Quantities,"  and  by  a  treatise  on  the 
"  Application  of  Photography  to  Survey- 
ing." Mr.  Hardy  at  that  time  was  prob- 
ably spoken  of  as  "  the  rising  young  mathe- 
matician." 

But  in  1883  appeared  an  uncommonly 
interesting  novel,  "  But  Yet  a  Woman," 
with  the  name  of  Arthur  Sherburne  Hardy 
on  the  title-page;  and  then  the  lovers 
of  quaternions  were  simply  dumfounded. 
The  connection  between  mathematics,  the 
most  exact  of  sciences,  and  fiction  strikes 
one  at  first  as  being  whimsical  and  para- 
doxical; but,  as  a  writer,  some  years  ago, 
said  of  Mr.  Hardy's  work,  mathematical 
power  "  implies  a  vigorous  imagination, 
and  it  is  not  strange  that  he  should  have 
turned  from  the  consideration  of  the  ntli 
power  of  numbers  to  a  field  that  most 
would  regard  as  more  attractive,  and  took 
up  fiction  as  his  by-work."  Besides,  as 
220 


AKTHUK    SHERBURNE    HARDY 

Prof.  Brander  Matthews  has  argued,  fic- 
tion is  a  misleading  term.  What  may  seem 
to  an  author  to  be  a  novel  situation,  a  bit 
of  sheer  romance,  very  often  turns  out  to 
be  a  more  or  less  accurate  statement  of 
a  bygone  fact.  The  saying,  "  There  is 
nothing  new  under  the  sun/'  takes  on  more 
force  every  day.  Thus,  in  a  way,  the 
writer  of  fiction  becomes  the  chronicler 
of  actual  events;  thus,  by  a  masterly 
stretch  of  imagination  and  of  those  highly 
developed  qualities  of  mind  which  distin- 
guish the  worthy  novelist  from  the  ordi- 
nary gossip,  fancy  approaches  fact,  and,  to 
a  certain  extent,  attains  the  dignity  of 
fact.  "No  one  surely  has  less  to  do,  pro- 
fessionally, with  fiction  than  the  teacher 
of  mathematics,  and  so  it  may  come  about 
that  he,  of  all  men,  should  take  pleasure 
in  producing  something  entirely  foreign 
to  facts,  something  too  preposterous  ever 

221 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

to  be  proved  a  fact.  Therefore  we  have 
"  Alice  in  Wonderland,"  which  can  never 
be  a  fact  until  some  new  Barnum  and  Cag- 
liostro  combine  forces. 

However,  the  similarity  between  Lewis 
Carroll  and  Mr.  Hardy  ends  with  the 
statement  that  each  turned  from  mathe- 
matics to  fiction.  The  child  who  visited 
Wonderland  bears  no  resemblance  what- 
soever to  the  heroine  of  "  But  Yet  a 
Woman." 

If  the  "  Elements  of  Quaternions "  was 
successful,  so  was  the  novel.  The  author 
won  instant  distinction  by  each  venture. 
"The  publication  of  'But  Yet  a 
Woman,'  "  said  a  critic  in  1890,  "  was  a 
surprise  and  delight  to  the  public.  The 
book  was  at  once  successful.  Edition  after 
edition  was  called  for,  and  it  was  repub- 
lished  twice  in  England.  Seldom  has  the 
first  work  of  an  author  met  with  such  uni- 
222 


ARTHUR    SHERBURNE    HARDY 

versal  commendation.  All  were  charmed 
with  its  graceful  and  sparkling  style,  with 
its  rich  descriptions  and  its  pungent  aphor- 
istic sentences," 

The  author  of  these  widely  separated 
works  was  born  in  Andover,  Massachusetts, 
August  13,  1847.  His  father,  Alpheus 
Hardy,  was  a  prominent  Boston  merchant. 
The  father  being  well-to-do,  Arthur  was 
given  a  very  liberal  education.  A  part  of 
his  boyhood  was  spent  in  Neuchatel, 
Switzerland,  and  there  he  acquired  that 
familiarity  with  the  French  language 
which  has  since  served  him  so  well  in  the 
diplomatic  field. 

However,  it  was  at  Phillips  Andover 
Academy  that  he  prepared  for  college.  He 
entered  Amherst,  but  remained  only  a  year, 
leaving  it  for  West  Point,  where  he  was 
graduated  in  1869. 

"  I  was  graduated,"  he  reports,  simply, 

223 


LITTLE     PILGEIMAGES 

"  and  two  days  afterward  I  was  married. 
I  was  qualified  by  my  rank  for  admission 
to  the  ordnance  department,  but  soon  after 
the  usual  order  of  service  was  changed.  I 
made  application  for  every  available  post 
except  the  one  which  I  got." 

That  one  was  an  artillery  post  on  the 
Dry  Tortugas;  and  nothing  connected 
with  it  being  agreeable  either  to  him  or 
to  his  wife,  he  resigned  from  the  army 
after  serving  eighteen  months.  It  is  said 
that  General  Sherman  approved  his  course, 
saying  that  there  was  something  better  in 
store  for  him  than  military  life.  "  Mili- 
tary life,"  Mr.  Hardy  observed  years 
afterward,  "  has  a  charm  which  those  who 
have  once  been  permeated  by  it  ever  wish 
to  renew.  But  I  did  not  like  its  servitude." 

The  glamour  of  military  life  had  at- 
tracted him  in  his  boyhood,  for  during  the 
Civil  War  he  had  made  his  way  to  a  re- 
224 


AKTHUK    SHEKBUKNE    HAKDY 

cruiting-office  in  Boston,  where  his  father, 
who  had  been  notified  by  the  adjutant- 
general,  reclaimed  him. 

After  resigning  from  the  army  he  de- 
voted some  months  to  miscellaneous  work, 
and  in  1873  he  was  elected  professor  of 
civil  engineering  in  Iowa  College.  Soon 
afterward  Dartmouth  invited  him  to  oc- 
cupy a  similar  position,  but  he  declined. 
The  offer  was  renewed,  and  this  time  he 
said  he  would  accept  if  he  were  granted 
a  year  abroad  to  travel  and  study.  This 
was  agreed  to,  and  he  accordingly  spent 
most  of  a  year  in  a  school  of  technology 
in  Paris.  In  1874  he  went  to  Dartmouth. 

"  One  of  the  familiar  sights  of  my 
freshman  year,"  said  a  Dartmouth  man  to 
us,  "was  the  slight  figure  of  Professor 
Hardy  riding  his  gray  horse  with  that 
perfection  which  all  West  Pointers  attain, 
a  big  black  and  white  dog  dashing  breath- 

225 


LITTLE     PILGKIMAGES 

lessly  along  as  escort.  Sometimes  the 
rambler  in  the  park  would  run  across  him, 
armed  with  a  racquet,  going  down  to  van- 
quish his  colleagues  in  the  game  of  serves 
and  returns  —  or  be  vanquished,  as  the 
case  might  be.  Since  then  I  have  met  him 
in  the  class-room  and  in  society,  and  have 
found  him  always  the  same,  dignified  yet 
never  drawing  around  himself  that  divin- 
ity that  sometimes  separates  a  college  pro- 
fessor from  college  men." 

In  1897  McKinley  appointed  Professor 
Hardy  United  States  Minister  and  Con- 
sul General  to  Persia.  It  was  a  personal 
honour  from  the  President,  but  it  was  im- 
mediately approved  by  the  New  Hamp- 
shire senators.  Two  years  later  Mr. 
Hardy  was  transferred  to  Greece,  and  still 
later  to  Switzerland ;  and  last  year  Presi- 
dent Roosevelt  appointed  him  to  the  im- 

226 


AETHUB    SHEREURNE    HARDY 

portant  office  of  Minister  to  Spain.     He 
holds  this  office  at  present. 

Mr.  Hardy's  literary  works  comprise 
'•'But  Yet  a  Woman;"  "The  Wind  of 
Destiny,"  a  second  novel,  which  appeared 
in  1886 ;  "  Passe  Rose,"  a  third  romance 
bearing  on  the  times  of  Charlemagne, 
which  began  as  a  serial  in  the  Atlantic 
Monthly  in  1888;  and  "His  Daughter 
First,"  which  ran  in  the  Atlantic  last  year, 
and  was  published  in  book  form  in  May, 
1903.  It  will  be  noticed  that  "Passe 
Rose"  and  "His  Daughter  First"  are 
fourteen  years  apart,  but  in  those  fourteen 
years  Mr.  Hardy  was  busy  with  things 
more  important  to  him  than  novel-writing. 
However,  from  time  to  time  poems  had 
come  from  his  pen.  His  very  first  literary 
attempt  was  a  poem,  "  Francesca  of  Rim- 
ini," and  now  his  poems  are  numerous 
enough  to  warrant  a  separate  volume. 

227 


LITTLE     PILGEIMAGES 

The  "  Wind  of  Destiny  "  was  never  pop- 
ular. Its  flavour  was  too  tragic  for  the 
taste  of  fifteen  years  ago.  "  Passe  Rose  " 
was  praised  for  its  fidelity  as  a  picture  of 
a  romantic  day.  It  came  prematurely. 
If  it  had  been  published  a  few  years  ago 
it  might  have  made  a  sensation. 

The  author's  latest  novel,  and  his  first 
one  since  "  Passe  Rose,"  is  one  of  those 
rare  delights  which  you  wish  to  consume 
at  one  sitting.  The  selfishness  of  the 
widower's  daughter,  and  the  dissolution  of 
this  selfishness  in  the  crucible  of  love;  the 
incidental  pleasures  of  the  New  England 
house-party,  and  the  dramatic  complica- 
tions of  the  'New  York  stock-market  — 
these  themes  are  handled  adroitly  and 
charmingly.  Each  different  character  is 
portrayed  with  masterly  skill  and  power; 
the  proud,  misunderstood  heroine;  her 
bright  but  unsophisticated  governess  and 
228 


ARTHUR    SHERBURNE    HARDY 

companion ;  her  doting,  commercial  father ; 
the  tender-hearted,  transparent  widow, 
whom  the  father  loves ;  the  widow's  lovely 
but  unimpressive  friend  and  guest,  Mar- 
garet ;  Margaret's  masculine,  worldly-wise 
mother;  Margaret's  manly  lover;  the  ur- 
bane, audacious  freebooter  of  finance  — 
each  of  these  varying  characters  is  re- 
markably well  drawn.  The  author's  power 
to  arouse  and  sustain  interest  is  unde- 
niable, irresistible.  We  recall  what  was 
said  of  his  first  novel  —  "  its  graceful  and 
sparkling  style,"  its  "  rich  descriptions, 
and  its  pungent  aphoristic  sentences  "  — 
and  we  are  compelled  to  say  that  these 
attributes  of  "  But  Yet  a  Woman  "  have 
reappeared  in  "  His  Daughter  First." 
There  is  the  same  "  succession  of  delight- 
ful scenes  and  happy  thoughts ;  "  there  is 
the  same  trinity  of  attractions  noted  by 
a  critic  years  ago  in  the  almost  forgotten 

229 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

predecessors  of  the  present  novel  —  the 
author's  "  happy  expression  of  those  ideas 
of  life  and  conduct  that  are  in  every  mind, 
his  appreciation  of  natural  beauty,  and  his 
artistic  arrangement  of  scene  and  inci- 
dent." Perhaps  some  readers  remember 
the  beautiful  allegory  of  Death  and  Love 
in  the  "  Wind  of  Destiny,"  or  the  affecting 
description  of  nightfall  in  the  forest,  in 
u  Passe  Kose." 

"  His  Daughter  First  "  throbs  with  nat- 
ural life.  Here,  for  instance,  is  the  scene 
in  which  Margaret  and  Paul,  with  their 
love  for  each  other  not  yet  discovered  and 
declared,  are  caught  in  the  storm  in  the 
New  England  hills: 

"  So  they  went  on.  A  thin  crust  over- 
laid the  snow,  shining  under  the  sun  like 
a  burnished  mirror.  To  the  west  and  south 
the  sky  was  clear,  while  far  away  to  the 
north,  under  the  ragged  line  of  cloud,  yel- 
230 


ARTHUR    SHERBURNE    HARDY 

low  light  showed  the  limits  of  the  storm- 
Swaying  to  the  wind  like  the  drapery  of 
some  mighty  unseen  figure,  the  veils  of 
falling  snow  swept  up  the  further  slopes 
of  the  hill.  There  was  still  a  chance  that 
its  rocky  buttresses  might  shoulder  them 
off  into  the  valley  beyond.  One  could  see 
from  the  smokelike  clouds  of  driven  snow 
drifting  away  from  the  summit  that  the 
fight  was  on,  and  that  the  wind  was  sweep- 
ing the  crest  bare. 

"  '  How  magnificent ! '  cried  Margaret. 
'  It  is  worth  coming  to  see.  Shall  we  wait 
here  till  it  passes  ?  There  will  be  no  view 
up  there  now.' 

"  They  were  still  in  the  sunshine  and 
scarcely  felt  the  wind,  but  the  words  were 
hardly  out  of  her  mouth  when  sun  and 
sky  were  blotted  out  in  a  furious  rush  of 
whirling  sleet.  It  required  all  her  strength 
to  keep  her  feet,  to  breathe,  and  the  sharp 

231 


LITTLE     PILGEIMAGES 

crystals  stung  her  face  and  neck  like  the 
lashes  of  whips.  She  had  instinctively 
turned  her  back  to  the  blast,  but  could 
neither  see  nor  speak,  when  suddenly 
everything  became  black,  she  felt  some- 
thing warm  and  thick  over  her  head 
and  shoulders,  and  heard  Paul's  voice: 
4  Walk  straight  ahead.  I'll  keep  you  in 
the  path.  It  will  be  over  in  a  minute.' 

"  She  stumbled  on  through  the  drifts, 
steadied  by  the  push  of  the  guiding  hand 
on  her  shoulder.  The  relief  was  so  great 
that  she  could  not  protest. 

"  c  There !  it's  all  over.  It  was  nothing 
but  a  bluff,'  said  Paul,  drawing  back  the 
coat  he  had  thrown  over  her.  She  was 
far  more  beautiful  now  than  in  the  candle- 
light of  yesterday,  —  struggling  for  her 
breath,  her  cheeks  aflame,  her  hair  and 
lashes  white  with  the  sleet.  He  saw  there 

232 


AKTHUE    SHEKBUKKE    HAKDY 

were  two  brown  splashes  in  her  eyes. 
4  Were  you  frightened  ? ' 

"  '  Frightened  ?  No/  she  gasped.  '  I 
hadn't  a  faculty  left.  It  was  so  sudden.' 

"  '  It  was  a  bit  sudden/  laughed  Paul, 
putting  on  his  coat.  '  I  thought  you  were 
going  to  be  blown  away.' 

"  '  I  think  I  should  have  been  if  — ' 

"  '  But  you  are  all  right  now/  he  inter- 
rupted. '  You  can  see  the  house  down 
there  in  the  sun.  We  might  go  on  but  for 
the  drifts.' 

"  He  brushed  the  snow  from  her  neck 
and  hair  with  his  handkerchief  and  turned 
up  the  collar  of  her  jacket  as  he  spoke. 
It  was  the  first  time  in  her  life  a  man's 
hand  had  cared  for  her,  and  she  felt  the 
strength  and  gentleness  of  its  touch  all 
the  homeward  way." 

Mr.  Hardy  is  a  man  of  medium  height, 
with  a  strong,  muscular  figure,  now  some- 

233 


LITTLE     PILGBIMAGES 

what  softening  under  the  pressing  hospital- 
ities of  diplomatic  life;  with  a  clean-cut, 
rather  benevolent  face,  and  bluish  gray 
eyes.  A  handsome  man  withal,  and  with 
the  additional  graces  of  courtliness  and 
vivacity.  "  He  is  always  an  agreeable 
companion,"  says  a  friend,  "  and  among 
intimate  friends  a  most  delightful  one. 
His  conversation  is  easy,  suggestive,  and 
enlivened  by  a  quick  perception  of 
humour."  Since  beginning  his  career  as 
a  diplomatist  he  has  found  abundant  oppor- 
tunity to  indulge  his  taste  for  social  in- 
tercourse. For  their  social  attainments 
he  likes  the  French  people  especially  well. 
He  is  a  polished  man  of  the  world;  and 
a  fourfold  success  as  teacher,  poet,  diplo- 
mat, and  novelist. 


234 


JACK    LONDON 


JACK     LONDON 


JACK  LONDON  came  into  sight 
comet-like  three  years  ago  with 
«  The  Son  of  the  Wolf,"  a  collec- 
tion of  nine  stories  that  had  appeared  al- 
ready under  the  favourable  auspices  of  the 
Overland  Monthly  and  the  Atlantic 
Monthly.  When  it  became  known  that 
London  was  but  twenty-four  years  old  the 
praise  of  the  literary  world  grew  louder, 
for  the  stories  were  of  rare  power  and 
imagination. 

"  The  Son  of  the  Wolf  "  was  deservedly 
one  of  the  marked  successes  of  the  spring 
of  1900.  A  few  critics  even  went  so  far 
as  to  cry,  "  Another  Kipling !  "  Many 
"  Kiplings  "  have  come  —  and  gone.  The 
original  Kipling  is  still  unrivalled,  unique. 

235 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

Nevertheless  the  writing  of  these  stories 
by  a  young  man  of  twenty-three  (he  was 
barely  twenty-four  when  the  collection 
came  out)  was  a  remarkable  literary 
achievement.  There  were  many  signs  in 
the  book  that  Mr.  London  knew  his  Kip- 
ling well ;  but  there  was  no  sign  of  servile 
imitativeness.  The  young  student  might 
well  have  claimed  to  be  a  master  in  his 
own  right.  Of  course,  it  was  not  his  fault 
that  the  critics  made  the  invidious  com- 
parison. Lazy  and  superficial  critics  are 
for  ever  doing  that  sort  of  thing. 

"  The  Priestly  Prerogative,"  Mr.  Lon- 
don's first  bit  of  fiction,  was  done  when 
he  was  twenty-two.  It  was  printed  in  the 
Overland  Monthly  in  January,  1899  ;  and 
in  that  very  month  the  author  was  twenty- 
three  years  old.  But  there  were  better 
stories  in  the  book  than  "  The  Priestly 
Prerogative."  Kipling  himself  has  rarely 
236 


JACK    LONDON 


surpassed  the  ghastly  sombreness  of 
"  In  a  Far  Country,"  the  fourth  story  in 
the  book;  and  therein  the  enthusiastic 
critics  are  amply  justified.  It  is  the  story 
of  two  grumbling,  shirking  adventurers 
crossing  the  snowfields  to  the  gold  mines 
of  the  Klondike.  One  of  the  men  had 
been  a  clerk ;  the  other  had  had  even  richer 
leisure.  Their  cabin  for  the  winter  was 
built  near  two  cairns  —  dread  relics  of 
previous  failures. 

One,  the  softer  and  more  intelligent  of 
the  two,  oppressed  with  the  boundless 
inanity,  "  lived  with  Death  among  the 
dead,  emasculated  by  the  sense  of  his  own 
insignificance,  crushed  by  the  passive  mas- 
tery of  the  slumbering  ages.  The  magni- 
tude of  all  things  appalled  him.  Every- 
thing partook  of  the  superlative  save  him- 
self—  the  perfect  cessation  of  wind  and 
motion,  the  immensity  of  the  snow-covered 

237 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

wilderness,  the  height  of  the  sky  and  the 
depth  of  the  silence.  That  weather-vane 
—  if  it  would  only  move.  If  a  thunderbolt 
would  fall,  or  the  forest  flare  up  in  flame* 
The  rolling  up  of  the  heavens  as  a  scroll, 
the  crash  of  Doom  —  anything,  anything ! 
But  no,  nothing  moved;  the  Silence 
crowded  in,  and  the  Fear  of  the  North 
laid  icy  fingers  on  his  heart. 

"  Once,  like  another  Crusoe,  by  the  edge 
of  the  river  he  came  upon  a  track,  —  the 
faint  tracery  of  a  snowshoe  rabbit  on  the 
delicate  snowcrust.  It  was  a  revelation. 
There  was  life  in  the  Northland.  He 
would  follow  it,  look  upon  it,  gloat  over  it. 
He  forgot  his  swollen  muscles,  plunging 
through  the  deep  snow  in  an  ecstasy  of 
anticipation.  The  forest  swallowed  him 
up,  and  the  brief  midday  twilight  van- 
ished ;  but  he  pursued  his  quest  till  ex- 
hausted nature  asserted  itself  and  laid  him 
238 


JACK    LONDON 


helpless  in  the  snow.  There  he  groaned 
and  cursed  his  folly,  and  knew  the  track 
to  be  the  fancy  of  his  brain;  and  late 
that  night  he  dragged  himself  into  the 
cabin  on  hands  and  knees,  his  cheeks 
frozen  and  a  strange  numbness  about  his 
feet.  Weatherbee  grinned  malevolently, 
but  made  no  effort  to  help  him.  He  thrust 
needles  into  his  toes  and  thawed  them  out 
by  the  stove.  A  week  later  mortification 
set  in. 

"  But  the  clerk  had  his  own  troubles. 
The  dead  men  came  out  of  their  graves 
more  frequently  now,  and  rarely  left  him, 
waking  or  sleeping.  He  grew  to  wait  and 
dread  their  coming,  never  passing  the 
twin  cairns  without  a  shudder.  One  night 
they  came  to  him  in  his  sleep  and  led  him 
forth  to  an  appointed  task.  Frightened 
into  inarticulate  horror,  he  awoke  between 
the  heaps  of  stones  and  fled  wildly  into 

239 


LITTLE     PILGRIMAGES 

the  cabin.  But  he  had  lain  there  for  some 
time,  for  his  feet  and  cheeks  were  also 
frozen." 

One  day  the  poor  fellows  dragged  them- 
selves outside  to  watch  for  the  evanescent 
sun. 

"  The  stillness  of  death  was  about  them. 
In  other  climes,  when  nature  falls  into 
such  moods,  there  is  a  subdued  air  of 
expectancy,  a  waiting  for  some  small  voice 
to  take  up  the  broken  strain.  ~Not  so  in 
the  North.  The  two  men  had  lived  seem- 
ing aeons  in  this  ghostly  peace.  They 
could  remember  no  song  of  the  past;  they 
could  conjure  no  song  of  the  future.  This 
unearthly  calm  had  always  been,  —  the 
tranquil  silence  of  eternity. 

"  Their  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  north. 

Unseen,   behind  their  backs,   behind  the 

towering  mountains  to  the  south,  the  sun 

swept  toward  the  zenith  of  another  sky 

240 


JACK    LONDON 


than  theirs.  Sole  spectators  of  the 
mighty  canvas,  they  watched  the  false 
dawn  slowly  grow.  A  faint  flame  began  to 
glow  and  smoulder.  It  deepened  in  in- 
tensity, ringing  the  changes  of  reddish- 
yellow,  purple,  and  saffron.  So  bright 
did  it  become  that  Cuthfert  thought  the 
sun  must  surely  be  behind  it,  —  a  miracle, 
the  sun  rising  in  the  north!  Suddenly, 
without  warning  and  without  fading,  the 
canvas  was  swept  clean.  There  was  no 
colour  in  the  sky.  The  light  had  gone 
out  of  the  day.  They  caught  their  breaths 
in  half -sobs.  But  lo!  the  air  was  a-glint 
with  particles  of  scintillating  frost,  and 
there,  to  the  north,  the  wind-vane  lay  in 
vague  outline  on  the  snow.  A  shadow! 
A  shadow !  It  was  exactly  midday.  They 
jerked  their  heads  hurriedly  to  the  south. 
A  golden  rim  peeped  over  the  mountain's 

241 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

snowy  shoulder,  smiled  upon  them  an  in- 
stant, then  dipped  from  sight  again. 

"  There  were  tears  in  their  eyes  as  they 
sought  each  other.  A  strange  softening 
came  over  them.  They  felt  irresistibly 
drawn  toward  each  other.  The  sun  was 
coming  back  again.  It  would  be  with 
them  to-morrow,  and  the  next  day,  and  the 
next.  And  it  would  stay  longer  every 
visit,  and  a  time  would  come  when  it 
would  ride  their  heaven  day  and  night, 
never  once  dropping  below  the  sky-line. 
There  would  be  no  night.  The  ice-locked 
winter  would  be  broken ;  the  winds  would 
blow  and  the  forests  answer;  the  land 
would  bathe  in  the  blessed  sunshine,  and 
life  renew.  Hand  in  hand,  they  would 
quit  this  horrid  dream  and  journey  back 
to  the  Southland.  They  lurched  blindly 
forward,  and  their  hands  met,  —  their 

242 


JACK    LONDON 


poor  maimed  hands,  swollen  and  distorted 
beneath  their  mittens." 

Other  writers  have  pictured  the  romantic 
North,  but  none  has  so  deeply  impressed 
upon  his  readers  what  Mr.  London  has 
tersely  called  the  Fear  of  the  North. 

He  has  been  so  successful  because  he  is 
gifted  with  a  rare  imagination  and  a  well 
cultivated  mind,  and  because  he  himself,  at 
the  age  when  men  receive  impressions 
quickly  and  conceive  glowing  sympathies, 
had  experienced  the  Northland  gloom. 
He  had  barely  completed  his  freshman 
year  at  the  University  of  California  —  his 
only  year  in  college,  by  the  way  —  when 
the  rush  to  the  Klondike  in  the  fall  of 
1897  carried  him  with  it.  Other  men 
brought  home  money,  but  he  brought  home 
a  wealth  of  knowledge  and  fancies  which 
he  has  since  been  industriously  converting 
into  the  good  coin  of  the  Eepublic. 

243 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

He  matured  young.  He  was  born  in 
San  Francisco  on  January  12,  1876.  His 
father,  a  Pennsylvanian  by  birth,  had  been 
soldier,  scout,  backwoodsman,  trapper,  all- 
round  wanderer ;  and  he  died,  unhappily, 
just  before  his  son  rose  to  fame.  His 
mother  was  born  in  Ohio.  The  author  has 
surely  inherited  the  spirit  of  unrest. 

Mr.  London's  first  years  were  spent  on 
country  ranches,  but  when  he  was  nine 
years  old  the  family  settled  down  in  the 
city  of  Oakland,  where,  until  the  death  of 
his  father,  the  family  lived.  Since  that 
year,  with  the  exception  of  a  short  time 
spent  in  school,  Mr.  London  has  worked 
for  his  living.  He  has  followed  many 
occupations,  but  no  trades.  The  vagrant 
drop  in  his  blood  has  been  leading  him 
hither  and  thither. 

In  1892,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  he  shipped 
before  the  mast;  the  following  year  took 
244 


JACK    LONDON 


him  to  Japan  and  to  the  seal-hunting 
grounds  in  Behring  Sea;  and  in  1894  he 
began  to  indulge  his  first  great  ambition, 
which  was  to  explore  the  under  world  of 
the  United  States.  This  is  not  the  world 
of  the  comic  weekly  Weary  Willies;  but 
the  world  of  tragedies  and  romances.  With 
tramps  he  travelled  the  length  and  breadth 
of  the  continent,  stealing  rides  on  trains 
and  working  only  for  a  night's  lodging 
and  a  breakfast.  The  enterprise  had  nat- 
ural attractions  for  him ;  and  of  the  social 
and  economic  truths  which  he  discovered 
the  public  has  heard  very  little.  He  has 
described  tramp  life  in  newspaper  articles, 
but  he  has  said  nothing  so  impressive  as 
Professor  Wyckoff  has,  or  Mr.  I.  K. 
Friedman.  He  has  been  more  the  amateur 
"hobo"  than  the  professional  sociologist. 
Some  day,  however,  he  may  tell  the  ro- 
mance of  the  tramps'  estate. 

245 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

After  this  eccentric  ten-thousand-mile 
expedition  Mr.  London  attended  the  High 
School  in  Oakland  for  a  year,  and  at  the 
end  of  the  spring  term  "  crammed  "  for 
entrance  to  the  University  of  California. 
In  three  months,  without  coaching,  he  did 
what  his  classmates  in  the  High  School 
spent  two  years  doing :  he  learned  enough 
to  pass  the  examinations  and  to  matricu- 
late. That  was  an  extraordinary  exhibi- 
tion of  bodily  strength  and  mental  capa- 
city. He  was  obliged,  much  against  his 
will,  to  give  up  college  just  before  the  com- 
pletion of  his  freshman  year.  It  seems  that 
his  scholastic  aspirations  were  doomed  to 
be  defeated. 

Nothing  daunted,  however,  he  returned 
to  work;  and  then  came  the  next  impor- 
tant influence  in  his  life,  the  stampede 
to  the  Klondike. 

This  last  and  most  desperate  of  the 
246 


JACK    LONDON 


nineteenth-century  adventures  had  no  more 
enthusiastic  participant  than  Jack  Lon- 
don. Nature  and  experience  qualified  him 
to  take  part;  his  buoyant,  dreamy  spirit 
promised  to  sustain  him  under  any  hard- 
ship and  any  disappointment.  And  it  did. 
He  was  among  the  few  who  crossed  the 
death-dealing  Chilcoot  Pass  —  that  saddest 
and  wildest  of  the  Northern  graveyards  — 
in  the  winter  of  1897.  Other  men  staked 
claims  that  earned  them  fortunes,  and 
other  men  wrote  descriptions  of  their  expe- 
riences ;  but  London  was  the  only  member 
of  the  adventurous  army  to  come  back 
with  a  mind  teeming  with  wonderful  im- 
pressions and  no  less  wonderful  sensations. 
Witness  pages  of  the  story  "  In  a  Far 
Country,"  and  of  another  story,  "  The 
White  Silence."  There  is  a  paragraph  in 
the  latter  tale  which  illustrates  the  rare 
impressibility  of  the  author's  mind,  as 

247 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

well  as  his  uncommon  skill  with  words. 
It  says: 

"  The  afternoon  wore  on,  and  with  the 
awe,  born  of  the  White  Silence,  the  voice- 
less travellers  bent  to  their  work.  Nature 
has  many  tricks  wherewith  she  convinces 
man  of  his  finity,  —  the  ceaseless  flow  of 
the  tides,  the  fury  of  the  storm,  the  shock 
of  the  earthquake,  the  long  roll  of  heaven's 
artillery,  —  but  the  most  tremendous,  the 
most  stupefying  of  all,  is  the  passive  phase 
of  the  White  Silence.  All  movement  ceases, 
the  sky  clears,  the  heavens  are  as  brass; 
the  slightest  whisper  seems  sacrilege,  and 
man  becomes  timid,  affrighted  at  the  sound 
of  his  own  voice.  Sole  speck  of  life  jour- 
neying across  the  ghostly  wastes  of  a  dead 
world,  he  trembles  at  his  audacity,  realizes 
that  his  is  a  maggot's  life,  nothing  more. 
Strange  thoughts  arise  unsummoned,  and 

248 


JACK    LONDON 


the  mystery  of  all  things  strives  for  utter- 
ance. And  the  fear  of  death,  of  God,  of 
the  universe,  comes  over  him,  —  the  hope 
of  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life,  the  yearn- 
ing for  immortality,  the  vain  striving  of 
the  imprisoned  essence,  —  it  is  then,  if 
ever,  man  walks  alone  with  God." 

Consider  the  writer's  youth,  and  his 
lack  of  schooling,  and  his  utter  alienation 
from  what  is  pompously  spoken  of  as  the 
intellectual  life,  and  you  have  new  proof  of 
the  fact  that  the  artist  is  born,  not  made. 
Much  more  of  this  artistry  has  Mr.  London 
exhibited  in  "  The  God  of  His  Fathers," 
in  "  Children  of  the  Frost,"  and  it  is  not 
altogether  absent  in  his  disappointing  first 
novel,  "  A  Daughter  of  the  Snows."  But 
the  author  is  still  comparatively  very 
young,  and  experience  has  been  his  chief 
school.  His  new  book,  "  The  Call  of  the 

249 


LITTLE     PILGEIMAGES 

Wild/'  is  welcome,  for  it  has  taken  him 
back  to  an  inspiriting,  romantic  territory 
—  the  Klondike. 

Mr.  London  was  married  on  April  7, 
1900,  to  Miss  Bessie  Maddern,  of  Oak- 
land, and  he  lives  in  Piedmont  Heights, 
which  rise  over  Oakland  and  give  a 
splendid  view  of  the  Golden  Gate  —  of 
the  bay  out  of  which  and  into  which  he 
once  sailed  as  an  ordinary  deck-hand.  He 
is  still  interested  in  the  condition  of  his 
more  humble  fellow  men,  and  during  a 
recent  trip  to  England  mingled  for  a 
couple  of  months  with  the  hard-pressed 
residents  of  the  East  End  of  London,  and 
for  weeks  more  with  the  hop-pickers  of 
Kent. 

Naturally  he  has  a  strong  liking  for  out- 
door pastimes.  His  build  is  sturdy;  his 
face  rugged,  smooth-shaven  and  kindly; 

250 


JACK    LONDON 


his  gray  eyes  express  his  every  emotion; 
his  manner  is  that  of  a  shrewd  but  genial 
man  of  the  world.  He  is  to-day  the  ablest 
writer  of  fiction  in  the  far  West. 


251 


GEORGE  HORACE  LORIMER. 


GEORGE     HORACE     LORIMER 


X->EORGE    HORACE    LORIMER 

f  "¥"  was  born  in  Louisville,  brought  up 
in  Albany  and  Boston  and  Chicago, 
educated  at  Colby  University,  Maine,  and 
at  Yale,  introduced  to  commercial  life  in 
Chicago,  introduced  to  journalism  in  Bos- 
ton, and  to  the  higher  literature  in  Phila- 
delphia. He  has  brushed  sleeves  with  all 
kinds  of  Americans  on  their  native  heaths ; 
and  perhaps  that  is  what  makes  him  in 
business  and  in  literature  a  figure  with 
marked  American  characteristics.  As  ed- 
itor of  the  Saturday  Evening  Post,  of  Phil- 
adelphia, and  as  author  of  the  "  Letters 
from  a  Self-Made  Merchant  to  His  Son," 
he  is  one  of  the  notable  Americans  of  the 
day. 

253 


LITTLE     PILGEIMAGES 

This  would  be  enough  to  say  of  a  septua- 
genarian ;  and  Mr.  Lorimer  is  only  thirty- 
five.  He  was  born  in  the  Kentucky  metrop- 
olis on  October  6,  1868.  His  father  is  the 
Eev.  Dr.  George  Claude  Lorimer,  himself 
no  slight  figure  in  literature  as  well  as  in 
religion.  Doctor  Lorimer  was  pastor  of 
the  Walnut  Street  Baptist  Church  in 
Louisville  when  his  son  was  born.  The 
following  year,  1869,  Doctor  Lorimer  took 
charge  of  the  First  Baptist  Church  in  Al- 
bany, "New  York.  In  1870  he  went  to  the 
Shawmut  Avenue  Baptist  Church  in  Bos- 
ton. Nine  years  later  he  moved  to  Chicago, 
In  1891  he  returned  to  Boston,  and  two 
years  ago  he  left  Boston,  the  Massachu- 
setts capital,  for  New  York,  to  take  charge 
of  the  Madison  Avenue  Baptist  Church. 

Of  course,  wherever  his  father  went 
there  went  little  George  Horace,  too.  Doc- 
tor Lorimer,  by  the  way,  is  a  Scot  by  birth, 
254 


GEOKGE  HOEACE  LOEIMEK 

and  it  can  hardly  be  from  him  that  the  son 
got  his  singular  humourous  element.  It 
may  be  that  he  got  it  from  his  mother,  who 
was  a  Miss  Arabella  Burford,  of  Harrods- 
burg,  Kentucky. 

It  will  be  noticed  that  young  George 
Horace's  earlier  education  was  of  an  itin- 
erant nature.  We  have  traced  him  only 
to  one  school  in  particular,  and  that  is  to 
the  Mosely  High  School  in  Chicago.  It 
must  be  surmised  that  the  boy  was  strictly 
trained  at  home,  and  this  surmise  makes 
his  wisdom,  as  put  down  in  the  "  Letters 
from  a  Self -Made  Merchant  to  His  Son," 
seem  less  preternatural.  The  letters  are  dis- 
tinguished for  a  horse-sense  strain  that 
could  hardly  have  been  acquired  between 
the  ages  of  twenty-one  and  thirty-three. 

After  leaving  college  young  Lorimer 
went  back  to  Chicago,  where  his  father  was 
then  settled,  and  got  employment  in  the 

255 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

pork-packing  establishment  of  Philip  D. 
Armour,  that  extraordinary  self-made  mer- 
chant who  may  unconsciously  have  contrib- 
uted many  a  suggestion  to  the  creator  of 
"  Old  Gorgon  "  Graham.  Altogether  the 
minister's  son  spent  eight  years  in  the  pork- 
packing  business ;  and  the  most  noteworthy 
event  of  this  period  was  his  marriage,  on 
June  6,  1893,  to  Alma  Viola  Ennis,  the 
daughter  of  Judge  Ennis,  of  Chicago. 
However,  we  may  say  that  during  that 
period  he  also  acquired  that  thorough  fa- 
miliarity with  all  the  branches  of  the  busi- 
ness which  Armour  built  up,  and  that 
sound  common-sense  view  of  life  in  general, 
which  enliven  in  so  remarkable  a  manner 
the  three  hundred  pages  of  "  Letters  from 
a  Self -Made  Merchant  to  His  Son."  Inci- 
dentally he  did  so  well  in  the  business  that 
his  salary  finally  reached  five  thousand  a 
year. 

256 


GEOEGE  HOKACE  LOKIMEE 

But  pork  was  beginning  to  Lave  fewer 
and  fewer  attractions  for  him.  The  success 
of  Armour  was  enough  to  discourage  com- 
petition, nor  was  the  young  employee  likely 
to  inherit  a  part  of  the  business;  nor,  in 
short,  was  it  altogether  to  his  liking.  So, 
shortly  after  his  marriage,  he  resigned 
from  his  hard-won  and  lucrative  position 
and  moved  to  Boston,  where  his  father  was 
at  this  time  pastor  of  Tremont  Temple; 
and  in  Boston  he  entered  journalism. 

His  relationship  to  one  of  the  foremost 
clergymen  in  the  city  quickly  brought  him 
many  opportunities ;  but  in  his  four  years 
of  journalism  he  achieved  none  of  those 
grand  successes  that  generally  signalize 
even  the  briefest  journalistic  careers.  He 
was  loyal,  steady-going,  hard-working.  In 
his  time  the  title  "  yellow  journalism  "  had 
not  yet  been  invented ;  and,  for  that  mat- 
ter, it  so  happened  that  the  city  editor  was 

257 


LITTLE    PILGRIMAGES 

wont  to  insist  on  giving  Lorimer  church 
assignments  and  the  like.  It  was  on  one 
of  these  assignments  that  he  had  an  expe- 
rience which  he  probably  still  remembers. 

He  was  assigned  to  report  one  of  the 
numerous  semi-religious  reunions  fre- 
quently held  in  the  Tremont  Temple  halls 
—  a  Baptist  reunion,  it  must  have  been, 
for  his  father  was  down  to  make  a  speech. 
Mrs.  Lorimer,  the  reporter's  mother,  sat 
in  the  gallery.  Young  Lorimer  took  his 
place  at  the  reporters'  table. 

He  had  set  no  river  afire,  as  we  have 
said,  and  his  identity  was  not  known,  out- 
side of  the  office  of  the  Boston  Post,  to  more 
than  a  dozen  newspaper  men.  Even  to 
those  whom  he  met  frequently,  with  an 
exception  or  two,  he  was  rather  self-con- 
tained and  cool-mannered,  though  by  no 
means  exclusive  or  self-important.  A 
small,  stuck-up  journalist  would  be  a  curi- 
258 


GEOEGE  HORACE  LOEIMER 

osity.  Anyhow,  young  Lorimer  was  not 
known  to  all  the  other  reporters  at  the 
table,  and  particularly  to  a  cynical  Philis- 
tine who  had  already  survived  three  Boston 
creeds. 

The  supper  was  Puritanic  —  cold  meats 
and  cold  rolls  and  hot  coffee;  and  the 
speeches  were  also  Puritanic  —  fervent 
and  protracted.  It  was  a  sort  of  large  fam- 
ily gathering,  where  the  ladies  and  gentle- 
men of  the  press  were  the  only  outsiders. 

Doctor  Lorimer  spoke.  When  his  speech 
had  grown  to  an  unusual  length,  one  of  the 
reporters  leaned  across  the  table  and  re- 
marked to  no  one  in  particular:  "Well, 
if  he  isn't  the  longest-winded  yet."  The 
lady  at  the  table,  who  knew  the  Lorimers, 
blushed  the  colour  of  a  July  sunset;  but 
the  Post  reporter  kept  that  same  set,  almost 
stern,  face  with  which  the  readers  of  the 
popular  magazines  are  familiar. 

259 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

Indeed,  there  is  barely  a  trace  of  humour 
in  either  his  countenance  or  his  ordinary- 
address. 

It  may  be  that  Mr.  Lorimer  took  up 
journalism  for  the  purpose  of  gathering 
knowledge  of  the  world.  It  is  modern 
journalism  that  holds  the  mirror  up  to 
nature  with  a  vengeance.  Anyhow,  after 
four  years  of  journalism  he  retired  to  the 
field  of  general  literature. 

In  1898,  or  not  very  long  after  his  de- 
parture from  newspaper  life,  he  went  to 
Philadelphia  as  literary  editor  of  the  Sat- 
urday Evening  Post.,  the  famous  periodical 
which  Benjamin  Franklin,  soundest  of 
American  philosophers  and  smoothest  of 
American  statesmen,  established  and  con- 
ducted. 

"  It  is  a  little  curious,"  remarks  one 
critic,  "  that  the  man  who  has  written  the 
modern  '  Poor  Kichard's  Almanac '  (I  re- 
260 


GEOKGE  HORACE  LORIMER 

f  er  to  the  '  Letters  from  a  Self -Made  Mer- 
chant to  His  Son ')  should  be  the  editor 
of  the  paper  that  Franklin  founded  and 
edited.  There  is  more  of  '  Poor  Richard's  ' 
incisive  wit  and  illuminating  wisdom  in 
this  book  than  in  any  book  of  its  kind  that 
has  been  written  in  this  generation.  That 
a  man  as  young  as  Mr.  Lorimer  should  be 
able  to  deal  out  such  wise  saws  and  modern 
instances  seems  almost  incredible." 

It  does,  no  mistake ;  and  we  shall  never 
know  the  real  secret  of  this  phenomenon 
until  we  have  the  Lorimer  autobiography. 

On  St.  Patrick's  Day,  1899,  Mr.  Lori- 
mer became  editor-in-chief  of  the  Saturday 
Evening  Post,  and  it  was  while  aiming  to 
uplift  his  paper  that  the  young  editor 
got  the  inspiration  to  write  the  series  of 
letters  which  have  added  so  much  to  the 
popularity  of  the  Evening  Post,  and  which 

261 


LITTLE     PILGRIMAGES 

have  brought  himself  a  glory  perhaps  never 
dreamed  of. 

The  letters,  twenty  in  number,  appeared 
in  serial  form  in  the  Evening  Post,  begin- 
ning in  1901  and  ending  in  1902.  But  it 
was  not  until  they  appeared  in  book  form, 
in  October,  1902,  that  they  excited  the 
reading  public  at  large.  The  book  was 
the  one  genuine  literary  sensation  in  this 
country  last  year;  and  the  stir  which  it 
created  has  by  no  means  subsided.  It 
lacks  just  one  of  the  qualities  requisite  for 
lasting  popularity:  it  contains  no  appeal 
to  the  feminine  majority  of  the  reading 
public.  It  calls  attention,  as  a  magazine 
critic  very  well  said,  "  to  another  Ameri- 
can humourist  who,  if  not  exactly  of  the 
first  rank,  is  very  near  it.  We  don't  think 
it  has  all  the  elements  necessary  to  make 
it  a  popular  success  to  feminine  readers, 

262 


GEORGE  HOEACE  LOEIMER 

but  most  men  who  take  it  up  are  sure  to 
like  it  very  much." 

The  "Letters  from  a  Self -Made  Mer- 
chant to  His  Son  "  is  distinctively  a  man's 
book.  We  doubt  seriously  that  the  author 
would  make  a  success  of  letters  from  a  self- 
made  mother  to  her  daughter.  All  his 
work  suggests  that  he  would  wisely  leave 
feminine  matters  to  feminine  writers. 

The  letters  are  from  John  Graham,  a 
successful  pork-packer  of  Chicago,  to  his 
son,  who  in  the  beginning  is  a  student  at 
Harvard  and  in  the  end  is  a  rising  young 
pork-packer.  We  extract  a  few  samples 
of  this  Franklinian  wit  and  wisdom  from 
the  thirteenth  letter,  addressed  to  Pierre- 
pont  Graham,  the  son,  after  his  shrewd 
deal  in  pork.  "  Mr.  Pierrepont's  orders 
have  been  looking  up,"  explains  the  author, 
"  so  the  old  man  gives  him  a  pat  on  the 
back  —  but  not  too  hard  a  one." 

263 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

"  DEAR  PIEEEEPONT  :  That  order  for  a 
car-load  of  Spotless  Snow  Leaf  from  old 
Shorter  is  the  kind  of  back  talk  I  like. 
We  can  stand  a  little  more  of  the  same  sort 
of  sassing.  I  have  told  the  cashier  that 
you  will  draw  thirty  a  week  after  this, 
and  I  want  you  to  have  a  nice  suit  of 
clothes  made  and  send  the  bill  to  the  old 
man.  Get  something  that  won't  keep 
people  guessing  whether  you  follow  the 
horses  or  do  buck  and  wing  dancing  for 
a  living.  Your  taste  in  clothes  seems  to 
be  lasting  longer  than  the  rest  of  your 
college  education.  You  looked  like  a  young 
widow  who  had  raised  the  second  crop  of 
daisies  over  the  deceased  when  you  were  in 
here  last  week. 

"  Of  course,  clothes  don't  make  the  man, 

but  they  make  all  of  him  except  his  hands 

and  face  during  business  hours,  and  that's 

a  pretty  considerable  area  of  the  human 

264 


GEOKGE  HOEACE  LORIMER 

animal.  A  dirty  shirt  may  hide  a  pure 
heart,  but  it  seldom  covers  a  clean  skin. 
If  you  look  as  if  you  had  slept  in  your 
clothes,  most  men  will  jump  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  you  have,  and  you  will  never  get 
to  know  them  well  enough  to  explain  that 
your  head  is  so  full  of  noble  thoughts  that 
you  haven't  time  to  bother  with  the  dan- 
druff on  your  shoulders.  And  if  you  wear 
blue  and  white  striped  pants  and  a  red 
necktie,  you  will  find  it  difficult  to  get 
close  enough  to  a  deacon  to  be  invited  to 
say  grace  at  his  table,  even  if  you  never 
play  for  anything  except  coffee  or 
beans.  .  .  . 

"  But  it  isn't  enough  to  be  all  right  in 
this  world ;  you've  got  to  look  all  right  as 
well,  because  two-thirds  of  success  is  mak- 
ing people  think  you  are  all  right.  So  you 
have  to  be  governe'd  by  general  rules,  even 
though  you  may  be  an  exception.  People 

265 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

have  seen  four  and  four  make  eight,  and 
the  young  man  and  the  small  bottle  make 
a  damned  fool  so  often  that  they  are  hard 
to  convince  that  the  combination  can  work 
out  any  other  way.  The  Lord  only  allows 
so  much  fun  for  every  man  that  He  makes. 
Some  get  it  going  fishing  most  of  the  time 
and  making  money  the  rest;  some  get  it 
making  money  most  of  the  time  and  going 
fishing  the  rest.  You  can  take  your  choice, 
but  the  two  lines  of  business  don't  gee. 
The  more  money,  the  less  fish.  The  farther 
you  go,  the  straighter  you've  got  to 
walk.  .  .  . 

"  There  are  two  unpardonable  sins  in 
this  world  —  success  and  failure.  Those 
who  succeed  can't  forgive  a  fellow  for 
being  a  failure,  and  those  who  fail  can't 
forgive  him  for  being  a  success.  If  yon 
do  succeed,  you  will  be  'too  busy  to  bother 
very  much  about  what  the  failures  think. 
266 


GEOEGE  HQBACE  LOKIMER 

"  I  dwell  a  little  on  this  matter  of  ap- 
pearances because  so  few  men  are  really 
thinking  animals.  Where  one  fellow  reads 
a  stranger's  character  in  his  face,  a  hun- 
dred read  it  in  his  get-up.  We  have  shown 
a  dozen  breeds  of  dukes,  and  droves  of  col- 
lege presidents  and  doctors  of  divinity 
through  the  packing-house,  and  the  work- 
men never  noticed  them  except  to  throw 
livers  at  them  when  they  got  in  their  way. 
But  when  John  L.  Sullivan  went  through 
the  stock-yards  it  just  simply  shut  down 
the  plant.  The  men  quit  the  benches  with 
a  yell  and  lined  up  to  cheer  him.  You 
see,  John  looked  his  job,  and  you  didn't 
have  to  explain  to  the  men  that  he  was  the 
real  thing  in  prize-fighters.  Of  course, 
when  a  fellow  gets  to  the  point  where 
he  is  something  in  particular,  he  doesn't 
have  to  care  because  he  doesn't  look  like 
anything  special;  but  while  a  young  fel- 

267 


LITTLE    PILGRIMAGES 

low  isn't  anything  in  particular,  it  is  a 
mighty  valuable  asset  if  he  looks  like  some- 
thing special" 

Mr.  Lorimer  is  a  man  of  medium  height, 
rather  lightly  built,  with  a  calm  presence 
and  a  shrewd  light  in  his  eye.  He  looks 
"  like  something  special."  It  is  safe  to 
predict  that  time  will  add  many  inches  to 
his  now  striking  literary  stature. 


268 


CHARLES    MAJOR 


CHARLES    MAJOR 


¥"~10UR  years  ago  last  May  Charles 
t*  Major  and  another  gentleman  sat 
conversing  in  a  room  in  the  Wal- 
dorf-Astoria, New  York. 

"  Well,"  said  the  other  gentleman, 
"  how  did  you  come  to  write  '  When 
Knighthood  Was  in  Flower  ?  >  " 

"  That's  a  long  story,"  replied  Mr. 
Major.  "  I  wrote  it  to  please  myself,  in 
the  first  place;  and  when  I  had  written 
it  I  liked  it.  In  fact,  at  intervals  during 
the  writing  of  it  I  found  myself  asking, 
f  Is  that  idea  really  mine  ?  How  did  it 
come  to  me  ? '  I  had  written  essays  and 
stories  for  years  —  in  Shelbyville,  on  the 
Blue  River,  in  Indiana,  where  I  live  and 

269 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

have  my  law  office.  Writing  has  been  my 
favourite  diversion.  I  used  to  lock  the 
door  of  my  office  after  business  hours  and 
go  at  it  with  a  vengeance. 

"  Yes,  I  wrote  to  please  myself.  But 
the  romance  of  Mary  Tudor  and  Charles 
Brandon  was  scarcely  finished  when  the 
thought  came  to  me  that  others  might  en- 
joy reading  it.  That  was  five  or  six  years 
ago.  I  sent  the  manuscript  to  publishers 
here  in  E"ew  York.  They  offered  objec- 
tions —  objections  practically  amounting 
to  rejections.  So  I  put  the  manuscript 
away.  At  the  same  time,  I  liked  the 
characters  in  the  story  so  much  that  I 
wondered  why  others  could  not  like  them. 

"  The  present  success  of  the  book  is 
complimentary  to  my  judgment." 

On  rare  occasions  brilliant  bodies  flash 
across  the  sky  at  night.  The  astronomers 
call  them  comets.  A  comet  in  the  literary 
270 


CHARLES    MAJOR 

world  was  "  When  Knighthood  Was  in 
Flower." 

How  the  publishers  who  first  rejected 
the  tale  reached  such  a  decision  might  be 
explained  by  the  circumstance  that  the 
historical  romance  was  not  popular  early 
in  the  nineties,  and  by  the  fact  that 
"  When  Knighthood  Was  in  Flower  "  lacks 
the  literary  finish  which  some  readers  look 
upon  as  the  sine  qua  non  of  success. 

Maurice  Thompson  (may  his  soul  rest  in 
peace!)  lighted  up  the  situation  clearly 
when  he  wrote :  "  One  thing  about  Mr. 
Major's  work  deserves  special  mention: 
it  shows  conscientious  mastery  of  details, 
a  sure  evidence  of  patient  study.  What  it 
may  lack  as  literature  is  compensated  for 
in  lawful  coin  of  human  interest  and  in 
general  truthfulness  to  the  facts  and  the 
atmosphere  of  the  life  he  depicts. 

"  When  asked  how  he  arrived  at  his  ac- 

271 


LITTLE    PILGBIMAGES 

curate  knowledge  of  old  London, — London 
in  the  time  of  Henry  VIII.,  —  he  fetched 
an  old  book,  '  Stow's  Survey  of  London/ 
from  his  library,  and  said :  f  You  remem- 
ber in  my  novel  that  Mary  goes  one  night 
from  Bridewell  Castle  to  Billingsgate 
Ward  through  strange  streets  and  alleys. 
Well,  that  journey  I  made  with  Mary, 
aided  by  "  Stow's  Survey,"  with  his  map 
of  London  before  me.' ' 

Mr.  Major  has  already  been  quoted  as 
saying  that  he  wrote  originally  for  his  own 
pleasure.  To  quote  him  again,  "  When 
Knighthood  Was  in  Flower  "  was  not  writ- 
ten "  deliberately  to  be  published.  Perhaps 
if  I  had  considered  publication  in  advance, 
the  work  would  have  been  different.  I 
wrote  it  in  pencil,  and. as  fast  as  I  could. 
I  gave  no  time  to  polishing  of  phrases. 
I  thought  only  of  expressing  the  ideas  that 
were  occurring  to  me. 
272 


CHAELES     MAJOK 

"  The  ideas  came  "  —  and  here  is  where 
he  touches  on  the  origin  of  his  literary 
success  —  "  of  reading  Hall's  '  Chronicles 
of  the  War  of  the  Koses.'  It  was  an  old 
edition,  issued  in  1548.  I  had  always  en- 
joyed the  writers  of  that  period.  Hall's 
description  of  Mary  Tudor  and  Charles 
Brandon  delighted  me  more  than  did  any 
other  tale.  Then  came  to  me  the  tempta- 
tion to  write  a  historical  romance  convey- 
ing my  ideas  of  the  relations  between 
Mary  Tudor  and  Charles  Brandon.  My 
main  purpose  was  to  marry  them  after  a 
series  of  obstacles,  adventures,  had  been 
experienced.  These  incidents  were  devel- 
oped while  I  wrote.  I  cannot  say  that  I 
laid  down  a  plot  in  advance.  One  chapter 
suggested  another.  I  tried  to  avoid  two 
things  in  particular:  one  was  the  intro- 
duction of  solid  historical  matter,  and  the 
other  was  extremes  in  the  love-scenes.  A 

273 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

historical  romance  should  have  vivacity 
above  all  things." 

But  more  of  these  confessions  anon. 
Let  us  consider  the  author's  life  for  awhile. 

Mr.  Major  was  born  in  Indianapolis, 
Indiana,  July  25,  1856.  His  father, 
Stephen  Major,  was  an  Irishman  (born  in 
Granard,  County  Longford),  who  rose  to 
a  high  position  in  the  legal  profession  in 
Indiana.  The  family  is  said  to  be  de- 
scended from  a  warrior  named  D'Fy,  who 
crossed  from  the  Continent  to  England 
with  William  the  Conqueror.  Later  the 
Majors  settled  in  Scotland,  but  during 
Cromwell's  time  one  of  the  Majors  went 
to  Ireland;  and  this  man  was  Charles's 
ancestor. 

Charles  first  went  to  school  in  Indian- 
apolis. When  he  was  thirteen  years  of 
age  his  family  moved  to  Shelbyville,  in  the 
same  State;  and  there  the  boy  completed 
274 


CHABLES    MAJOK 

his  public  school  education.  Then  he  went 
to  the  University  of  Michigan,  from  which 
he  was  graduated  in  1875.  For  a  time 
he  travelled,  and  then  he  read  law  in  his 
father's  office,  being  admitted  to  the  bar 
in  1877. 

The  next  eight  years  he  spent  quietly, 
practising  law  and  writing  after  hours  for 
his  own  pleasure.  Then,  succumbing  to 
a  temptation  that  befalls  nearly  every 
ambitious  American  at  some  time,  he  en- 
tered politics,  and  he  was  elected  to  the 
State  legislature  on  the  Democratic  ticket. 
He  served  —  creditably,  no  doubt  —  for 
one  term.  Then  he  returned  to  the  quieter 
walks  of  law  and  literature. 

It  is  not  apparent  that  Mr.  Major  de- 
voted much  serious  attention  to  law.  But 
it  might  be  said  that  his  legally  trained 
mind  threw  new  light  upon  the  subject  of 
the  historical  romance.  In  other  words,  the 

275 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

young  Shelbyville  attorney,  with  his  head 
in  the  shadow  of  the  lamp  in  his  office, 
evolved  some  striking  theories  regarding 
the  novelist's  treatment  of  history. 

These  theories  he  put  into  effect  in 
"  When  Knighthood  Was  in  Flower,"  and, 
later,  in  "  Dorothy  Vernon  of  Haddon 
Hall." 

"  If  history  is  to  be  treated  as  a  science 
and  not  as  a  mere  entertaining  array  of 
facts,"  he  has  said,  in  explanation  of  these 
theories  (see  Scribners  for  June,  1900), 
"  it  should  be  studied  from  the  lower 
classes  upward  —  not  from  the  top  down- 
ward. If  there  is  a  science  of  history  — 
and  certainly  there  is  —  it  is  but  another 
name  for  the  science  of  human  conduct. 
If  that  science  has  progressed  slowly  up 
to  the  present  time,  it  is  because  those 
who  have  left  us  the  meagre  historic  record 
that  we  possess,  wishing  to  glorify  kings 
2T6 


CHAELES    MAJOR 

and  mighty  personages,  have  given  us  only 
a  poor  fragment  of  what  was  done  by  the 
swarming  thousands  of  humanity  in  by- 
gone days.  The  source  from  which  facts 
may  be  gleaned  whereon  to  base  the  prin- 
ciples of  such  a  science  is  the  people,  who, 
as  individuals,  are  the  medium  through 
which  its  laws  must  act;  whose  composite 
motives,  culminating  in  national  move- 
ments, are  the  net  results." 

That  this  point  was  well  taken  has  been 
proved  by  the  recent  overthrow  of  modern 
English  as  well  as  ancient  Roman  histo- 
rians, and  by  the  reversal  of  popular  opin- 
ion touching  the  character  of  many  his- 
torical figures.  Nor  have  all  these  re- 
versals been  for  the  better. 

And  this  is  Mr.  Major's  law  of  historical 
romance:  "Novelists  (I  here  betray  the 
craft)  are  compelled  to  create  situations  in 
order  that  they  may  lead  up  to  certain 

277 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

things  they  wish  to  say,  or  facts  they  wish 
to  use.  That,  however,  must  be  done 
adroitly,  for  most  readers  resent  a  trap 
laid  by  a  writer  in  order  that  he  may  ex- 
ploit his  learning  or  his  wit.  Of  all  forms 
of  evil  that  beset  the  historical  novelist,  the 
greatest  is  the  temptation  to  display  his- 
torical knowledge,  but  a  writer  who  coerces 
his  pen  into  such  a  display  dulls  his  pen. 
.  .  .  Unless  an  author  can  maintain,  with- 
out deviation,  from  the  first  to  the  last 
pages  of  his  book,  the  language  of  the 
period  of  which  he  writes,  his  work  will 
be  better,  his  pages  will  be  more  easily 
read,  and  whatever  true  atmosphere  he 
may  be  able  to  create  in  other  ways  will 
be  more  convincing,  if  he  writes  in  the 
language  of  his  own  times.  ~No  books  have 
a  stronger  flavour  of  their  own  period  than 
the  D'Artagnan  romances  well  translated 
into  modern  English. 
278 


CHAKLES    MAJOR 

"  It  were  as  well  for  an  English  author 
to  attempt  to  give  German  atmosphere 
to  a  story  of  German  life  by  writing  in 
broken  English,  as  to  attempt  to  give  old- 
time  flavour  to  an  old-time  tale  by  writing 
in  a  tongue  composed  of  both  the  old  and 
the  new.  .  .  . 

"  I  believe  there  is  now  no  definite  con- 
formity in  opinion  as  to  what  constitutes 
historical  atmosphere.  This  is  due  more 
to  the  lack  of  thought  than  to  the  lack 
of  knowledge.  Each  one  seems  to  have  a 
carelessly-formed  conception  of  his  own 
upon  the  subject.  One  seems  to  believe 
that  '  methinks  '  is  atmospheric.  Another 
holds  that  •'  an ?  for  l  if '  is  historic  to 
the  core.  '  Gad-zooks  '  wafts  another  back- 
ward, and  again,  for  others,  '  By  my  hali- 
dom/  in  the  mouth  of  the  butcher's  boy, 
would  straightway  make  a  knight  of  him." 

So  Mr.  Major  applied  his  theories.  In 

279 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

the  main,  the  application  is  effective.  The 
familiar  language  lends  an  air  of  natural- 
ness to  his  characters;  and  the  shrewd  in- 
troduction of  historical  information  insures 
a  sufficiency  of  atmosphere.  There  is  left, 
under  this  method,  nothing  but  the  slight 
incongruity  of  Elizabethan  oaths  and 
twentieth-century  figures  —  just  as  in  his 
pictures  Mr.  Howard  Chandler  Christy 
shows  us  a  heroine  with  an  Elizabethan 
ruff  and  an  up-to-date  Parisian  head-dress. 
We  have  seen  Mr.  Christy's  "  Dorothy 
Vernon  "  in  Central  Park. 

Mr.  Major  is  not  a  stylist,  as  Maurice 
Thompson  said  in  other  words;  but  he 
is  a  fertile  inventor  of  dramatic  situations, 
and  he  has  the  art  of  making  every  action 
seem  probable.  Moreover,  he  possesses  the 
still  rarer  art  of  arousing  what  they  call 
"  heart  interest,"  and  of  causing  his  read- 
ers to  sympathize  with  his  young  people's 
280 


CHAKLES     MAJOR 

maddest  fancies  and  boldest  deeds.  Thus 
you  smile  at  Dorothy  when  she  enters  the 
tap-room  and  makes  eyes  at  Sir  John 
Manners,  of  whom  she  has  suddenly  be- 
come enamoured;  and  so,  too,  you  pardon 
Sir  Malcolm  for  forgetting  his  pure 
Madge  while  he  rides  to  Haddon  Hall  with 
the  seductive  Mary  Tudor. 

Does  not  the  author  of  "  Dorothy  Ver- 
non  "  forget  himself  when  he  goes  to  fetch 
history  in  the  scene  where  Dorothy  des- 
troys the  marriage  contract  with  Lord 
James  Stanley  ?  —  "  Soon  the  humming 
turned  to  whistling.  Whistling  in  those 
olden  days  was  looked  upon  as  a  species 
of  crime  in  a  girl."  Does  he  not  ?  But  we 
forgive  him  such  a  slight  bit  of  clum- 
siness—  we  forgive  and  forget  when  we 
read  his  glorious  love-scenes.  Never  were 
love-scenes  more  glowing,  more  spirited, 
more  pregnant  at  once  with  the  divine 

281 


LITTLE    PILGRIMAGES 

sentiment  and  with  the  mortal  passion. 
Take  the  scene  in  which  Sir  Malcolm 
woos  the  lovely  blind  girl  Madge: 

"  Madge  and  I  sat  for  a  few  minutes 
at  the  window,  and  I  said,  '  You  have  not 
been  out  to-day  for  exercise,' 

"  I  had  ridden  to -Derby  with  Sir  George 
and  had  gone  directly  on  my  return  to  see 
my  two  young  friends.  Sir  George  (Dor- 
othy's father)  had  not  returned. 

"  *  Will  you  walk  with  me  about  the 
room  ? '  I  asked. 

"  My  real  reason  for  making  the  sugges- 
tion was  that  I  longed  to  clasp  her  hand, 
and  to  feel  its  velvety  touch,  since  I  should 
lead  her  if  we  walked. 

"  She  quickly  rose  in  answer  to  my 
invitation  and  offered  me  her  hand.  As 
we  walked  to  and  fro  a  deep,  sweet  con- 
tentment filled  my  heart,  and  I  felt  that 

282 


CHA'RLES    MAJQK 

any  words  my  lips  could  coin  would  but 
mar  the  ineffable  silence. 

"  Never  shall  I  forget  the  soft  light  of 
that  gloaming  as  the  darkening  red  rays 
of  the  sinking  sun  shot  through  the  pan- 
elled window  across  the  floor  and  illumined 
the  tapestry  upon  the  opposite  wall. 

"  The  tapestries  of  Haddon  Hall  are 
among  the  most  beautiful  in  England,  and 
the  picture  upon  which  the  sun's  rays  fell 
was  that  of  a  lover  kneeling  at  the  feet 
of  his  mistress.  Madge  and  I  passed  and 
repassed  the  illumined  scene,  and  while 
it  was  softly  fading  into  shadow  a  great 
flood  of  tender  love  for  the  girl  whose 
soft  hand  I  held  swept  over  my  heart.  It 
was  the  noblest  motive  I  had  ever  felt. 

"  Moved  by  an  impulse  I  could  not  re- 
sist, I  stopped  in  our  walk,  and  falling 
to  my  knees  pressed  her  hand  ardently  to 
my  lips.  Madge  did  not  withdraw  her 

283 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

hand,  nor  did  she  attempt  to  raise  me^  She 
stood  in  passive  silence.  The  sun's  rays 
had  risen  as  the  sun  had  sunk,  and  the 
light  was  falling  like  a  holy  radiance  from 
the  gates  of  paradise  upon  the  girl's  head. 
I  looked  upward,  and  never  in  my  eyes 
had  woman's  face  appeared  so  fair  and 
saintlike.  She  seemed  to  see  me  and  to 
feel  the  silent  outpouring  of  my  affection. 
I  rose  to  my  feet,  and  clasping  both  her 
hands,  spoke  only  her  name,  '  Madge.' 

"  She  answered  simply,  '  Malcolm,  is  it 
possible  ? '  And  her  face,  illumined  by 
the  sunlight  and  by  the  love-god,  told  me 
all  else.  Then  I  gently  took  her  to  my 
arms  and  kissed  her  lips  again  and  again 
and  again,  and  Madge  by  no  sign  nor 
gesture  said  me  nay.  She  breathed  a 
happy  sigh,  her  head  fell  upon  my  breast, 
and  all  else  of  good  that  the  world  could 
offer  compared  with  her  was  dross  to  me." 
284 


CHAKLES    MAJQE 

A  happy  union  of  flaming  passion  and 
purest,  coolest  sentiment;  such  a  scene  as 
must  popularize  its  author. 

So  the  popularity  of  these  two  more 
important  of  Mr.  Major's  books  is  easily 
understood.  The  stories  are  composed  of 
the  two  attractive  elements  of  love  and 
conflict  —  of  troubled  love,  indeed,  and 
bloody  conflict.  They  bring  to  mind  what 
Kipling  says,  that  two  things  greater  than 
all  things  are;  the  first  is  love  and  the 
second  is  war. 

One  day  when  the  novelist  was  in  New 
York,  about  a  year  after  the  happy  advent 
of  his  first  story,  he  remarked :  "  Well,  I 
am  sorry  only  that  I  did  not  begin  ten 
years  ago.  I  could  have  done  then  the 
work  that  I  am  doing  now." 

But  not  every  novelist  is  famous  and 
prosperous  at  forty-two.  We  doubt  that 
Indiana's  talented  son  has  lost  much  time. 

285 


LITTLE     PILGKIMAGES 

Mr.  Major  is  a  well-built,  dark-complex- 
ioned, smooth-shaven  man  who  does  not 
look  his  years.  He  was  married  in  1885, 
at  Shelbyville,  to  Miss  Alice  Shaw;  and 
their  home  in  Shelbyville  is  said  to  be  the 
centre  of  genial  and  charming  hospitality. 


286 


GEORGE    BARK    MCCUTCHEON. 


GEOKGE     BAKE    McCUTCHEON 


the  novelists  who  were  born  and 
not  made,  George  Barr  McCutcheon 
is  one  of  the  latest,  but  not  one  of 
the  least. 

He  came  to  the  front  in  a  single  bound, 
and  with  brilliant  effect,  in  1900.  "  Grau- 
stark  "  did  for  him  all  that  the  "  Prisoner 
of  Zenda  "  did  for  Anthony  Hope.  But 
there  is  this  difference  between  the  Eng- 
lish and  the  American  romancist;  that 
whereas  Mr.  Hawkins  rose  on  the  remnants 
of  several  failures,  Mr.  McCutcheon  rose 
successful  with  his  first  serious  attempt. 

Last  year  we  had  occasion  to  communi- 
cate with  the  author  of  "  Graustark  "  and 
u  Castle  Craneycrow,"  and  in  response  to 

287 


LITTLE    PILGRIMAGES 

a  request  he  sent  this  modest  sketch  of 
himself : 

"  Born  in  1866  in  Jefferson  County, 
Indiana,  on  the  old  McCutcheon  farm  and 
homestead. 

"  Son  of  Capt.  John  B.  McCutcheon. 
Brother  of  John  T.,  the  Record  (Chicago) 
cartoonist  and  war  correspondent,  and 
Ben.  F.  McCutcheon,  railroad  editor  of  the 
Record.  Began  newspaper  work  in  1889 
as  reporter  on  Lafayette  Morning  Journal, 
made  city  editor  of  Lafayette  Daily 
Courier  in  1893,  and  been  such  ever  since. 
Attended  Purdue  University,  but  did  not 
graduate.  Have  lived  in  Lafayette  twenty- 
five  years.  Not  married.  Tried  for  three 
months  to  be  an  actor  with  a  very  queer 
opera  company  in  the  early  '80s  —  against 
wishes  of  parents.  Walked  home.  Don't 
want  to  be  an  actor  now.  Belonged  to  and 
took  part  in  the  plays  of  Lafayette 
288 


GEORGE     BAER    McCUTCHEON 

Dramatic  Club,  however.  Been  writing 
short  stories  for  years,  but  not  as  serious 
business.  '  Graustark '  was  begun  on 
Christmas  Day,  1898,  and  finished  the  next 


summer." 


The  sketch  may  be  amended  as  follows : 
Mr.  McCutcheon  was  born  on  July  26, 
1866.  He  received  his  early  education  in 
the  Lafayette  public  schools.  For  four 
months  in  the  year  1882  he  was  the  come- 
dian of  a  strolling  opera  company.  In 
1900,  after  the  success  of  his  first  novel, 
he  undertook  "  Castle  Craneycrow,"  which 
he  finished  in  the  spring  of  1902.  Sim- 
ultaneously with  its  publication,  the  fol- 
lowing August,  he  gave  up  journalism,  and 
moved  from  Lafayette  to  Chicago,  where 
he  lives  now  and  practises  his  profession 
of  novelist.  Incidentally  it  may  be  said 
that  his  brother  John  is  one  of  the  ablest 
cartoonists  of  the  times;  that  in  him  the 

289 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

humourous  quality  is   as  marked  as  the 
romantic  quality  is  in  George. 

In  a  communication  to  the  Book  News 
last  year,  the  novelist  confessed  that  the 
manuscripts  which  he  produced  before  the 
writing  of  "  Graustark  "  would,  collected 
together,  have  made  a  bonfire  "  large 
enough  to  discourage  the  ambition  of  the 
most  progressive  incendiary  on  earth.  The 
acceptance  and  publication  of  a  few  short 
stories  quite  a  number  of  years  ago,  when 
life  was  young  and  hope  was  high,  gave 
me  the  encouragement  to  dabble  in  big 
things.  So  I  wrote  and  wrote  until  my 
father  —  who  did  not  believe  that  I  could 
write  even  a  fairly  intelligible  school  com- 
position —  undertook  to  convince  me  of  the 
error  of  my  way  by  sending  me  to  my 
uncle's  farm,  where  I  expected  to  work 
off  a  large  portion  of  my  ambition  and  at 
the  same  time  cultivate  corn  instead  of 
290 


GEOEGE     BAKE     McCUTCHEOISr 

literature.  My  employment  as  a  farm- 
hand covered  a  period  of  three  weeks,  and 
I  did  not  do  enough  hard  work  to  acquire 
a  calloused  place  on  my  hands.  In  that 
time,  however,  I  wrote  seven  chapters  of 
a  very  thrilling  romance,  in  which  one 
lone  scout  exterminated  more  Indians  than 
Buffalo  Bill  ever  saw.  It  may  be  wise 
and  expedient  to  say,  in  this  connection, 
that  I  was  not  quite  fifteen  when  this  first 
contribution  to  my  literary  ash-pile  was 
undertaken.  Eude,  but  I  presume  judi- 
cious, editors  and  publishers  kindly  re- 
turned a  half-dozen  of  my  most  cherished 
novels,  having  heard,  perhaps,  that  I  had 
another  way  of  disposing  of  them.  Perse- 
verance is,  like  virtue,  its  own  reward. 
There  was  at  least  one  publisher  who  said 
my  ideas  were  clever,  and  that  in  time 
I  could  probably  turn  out  an  acceptable 

291 


LITTLE     PILGKIMAGES 

story.  He  did  not  know  what  disaster 
this  bit  of  encouragement  was  to  produce." 

Mr.  McCutcheon  went  to  Purdue  with 
the  purpose  of  graduating,  but  he  fell  into 
trouble  with  the  faculty  in  his  freshman 
year.  "  The  mature  thoughts  of  after 
years/'  he  says,  "  completely  exonerate  the 
professors." 

He  had  lived  in  Lafayette  about  a  dozen 
years  when  the  Journal  took  him  on  as 
a  reporter  at  a  salary  of  five  dollars  a 
week.  As  he  is  a  born  journalist  —  or 
romancer  —  he  did  so  well  that  four  years 
afterward  the  Courier  made  him  its  city 
editor.  George  Ade  was  in  journalism  in 
Lafayette  at  that  time.  Indeed,  it  is  note- 
worthy that  Ade  and  McCutcheon  were 
born  in  the  same  year  in  the  same  State, 
and  that  the  two  went  to  the  same  univer- 
sity. Ade  was  graduated  from  Purdue  in 

292 


GEOEGE     BAKU    McCUTCHEON 

1887,  and  went  into  journalism  imme- 
diately afterward. 

While  Mr.  McCutcheon  was  city  editor 
of  the  Lafayette  Courier  he  wrote  a  long 
story  called  "  The  Wired  End/'  which  ap- 
peared in  his  paper  in  weekly  instalments. 
Evidently  it  was  a  rather  juvenile  effort, 
else  by  this  time  it  would  have  been  re- 
printed. 

"  Graustark  "  found  instant  favour  with 
Herbert  S.  Stone  &  Co.  "  It  was  an  in- 
tensely satisfactory  sensation  to  me  to 
know  that  it  was  accepted  by  the  first 
publisher  who  saw  it,"  the  author  once 
remarked.  Two  weeks  after  publication 
it  was  being  translated  and  dramatized. 
It  is  a  stronger  book  than  "  Castle  Craney- 
crow,"  but  that  is  not  saying  that  the 
second  book  is  unworthy  or  uninteresting. 
On  the  contrary,  "  Castle  Craneycrow  "  is 
a  capital  story,  in  spite  of  its  flaws.  In 

293 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

his  excellent  review  of  it  in  the  Bookman, 
shortly  after  its  publication,  Mr.  Paul  Wil- 
stach  took  occasion  to  say  of  the  author: 
'*  He  is  a  story-teller,  not  a  stylist,  a  rheto- 
rician or  a  philosopher.  But  he  has  a  tale 
to  tell  which  he  embellishes  with  taste  and 
discretion,  really  astonishing  fertility  of 
imagination,  and  sufficient  sense  of  human 
nature  to  bring  the  characters  and  story 
near  to  the  reader  without  making  them 
commonplace.  There  is  no  trickery.  He 
starts  directly  for  the  point  and  makes  it 
honestly.  The  devious  path  is  not  his. 
Neither  does  he  affect  the  primrose  path 
of  dalliance.  It's  cut  and  run  from  page 
to  page.  Strenuous  is  an  overworked  word 
at  present,  but  it  must  needs  be  dragged 
out  again  to  define  (  Castle  Craneycrow.' ' 
Which  is  a  very  fair  criticism. 

Mr.  McCutcheon's  stories  are  made  for 
enjoyment,   not  for  analysis.     To  apply 
294 


GEORGE     BARR    McCUTCHEON 

severe  tests  of  criticism  to  them  would 
be  as  futile  as  to  pick  a  musical  toy  to 
pieces.  The  toy  pleases;  let  it  be.  So 
with  "  Graustark  "  and  "  Castle  Craney- 
crow."  They  are  a  series  of  pleasing  and 
exciting  incidents  lightly  put  together  to 
serve  the  purpose  of  entertainment.  The 
author's  aim  is  clear  and  simple;  and  the 
result  is  to  be  judged  accordingly.  It  is 
not  always  the  author  who  aims  high  that 
scores  the  most  points. 

Mr.  McCutcheon's  accomplished  skill  in 
the  treatment  of  a  climax  —  in  producing 
a  rounded,  effective,  dramatic  climax  —  is 
excellently  shown  in  the  last  scene  of  "  Cas- 
tle Craneycrow."  It  should  be  enough  to 
say  that  the  scene  is  well-nigh  faultlessly 
handled ;  that  the  action  combines  vigour, 
intensity,  logic;  that  the  reader  is  sur- 
prised, thrilled,  delighted. 

The  events  leading  to  this  final  climax 

295 


LITTLE    PILGRIMAGES 

are  the  betrothal  of  Miss  Dorothy  Garrison, 
an  American,  and  Prince  Ugo  Ravorelli, 
a  profligate  Italian  nobleman ;  the  jealous 
interference  of  Mr.  Philip  Quentin,  an 
American ;  the  abduction  of  Miss  Garrison 
the  hour  before  her  marriage  to  the  prince ; 
her  incarceration  by  Quentin  and  his 
friends  in  Castle  Craneycrow,  and  her 
gradual  dislike  for  the  prince  (based  on 
facts  regarding  his  viciousness  there  related 
and  proved  to  her),  and  gradual  total  ad- 
miration for  the  desperate  but  decent 
Quentin.  The  abduction  has  been  an  inter- 
national sensation.  It  has  been  generally 
attributed  to  bandits  seeking  gold,  but 
Prince  Ugo  has  been  following  a  trail  of 
his  own.  This  trail  finally  brings  him  and 
his  two  accomplices  and  the  Belgian  officers 
to  Castle  Craneycrow.  Proof  of  the  ab- 
duction will  bring  the  guilty  parties  to 
jail.  Prince  Ugo,  who  does  not  know  of 
296 


GEOKGE     BAKE    McCUTCHEON 

Dorothy's  change  of  heart,  is  filled  with 
the  twofold  pleasure  of  love  and  revenge. 
Lord  Saxondale,  the  owner  of  the  castle, 
and  Quentin's  friend,  admits  the  prince 
and  his  companions.  Dorothy  and  Lady 
Saxonville,  accompanied  by  friends,  come 
down-stairs.  The  scene  begins : 

"'  Dorothy!'  cried  Ugo.  '  Thank 
heaven,  I  have  found  you ! ' 

"  She  stopped  on  the  bottom  step,  within 
arm's  length  of  Philip  Quentin.  There 
was  a  moment  of  indecision,  a  vivid  flush 
leaped  into  her  lovely  cheek,  and  then  her 
hand  went  quickly  forth  and  rested  on 
Quentin's  shoulder.  He  started  and  looked 
at  her  for  the  first  time. 

"  '  I  am  sorry,  Ugo,  for  the  wrong  I 
have  done  you,'  she  said,  steadily,  but  her 
hand  trembled  convulsively  on  Phil's  shoul- 
der. Mechanically  he  reached  up  and  took 

297 


LITTLE     PILGKIMAGES 

the  slim  fingers  in  his  broad,  strong  hand 
and  rose  to  the  step  beside  her. 

"  '  The  wrong  ? '  murmured  the  prince, 
mechanically. 

"  '  In  running  away  from  you  as  I  did/ 
she  said,  hurriedly,  as  if  doubting  her  own 
power  to  proceed.  <  It  was  heartless  of  me, 
and  it  subjected  you  to  the  cruelest  pain 
and  humiliation.  I  cannot  ask  you  to  for- 
give me.  You  should  despise  me.' 

"  '  Despise  you  ? '  he  gasped,  slowly. 
The  truth  began  to  dawn  on  two  men  at 
the  same  time.  Ugo's  heart  sank  like  a 
stone  and  Quentin's  leaped  as  if  stung  by 
an  electric  shock.  His  figure  straightened, 
his  chin  was  lifted,  and  the  blood  surged 
from  all  parts  of  his  body  to  his  turbulent 
heart 

"  '  I  loved  him,  Prince  Kavorelli,  better 
than  all  the  world.  It  was  a  shameless 
way  to  leave  you,  but  it  was  the  only  way/ 
298 


GEOEGE     BAKU    McCUTCHEOlSr 

she  said,  her  voice  full.  Then  she  lifted 
her  eyes  to  Quentin's,  and  for  the  moment 
all  else  was  forgotten. 

"  '  My  God,  you  —  you  did  not  leave 
Brussels  of  your  own  free  will ! '  cried  the 
prince,  his  eyes  blazing.  Sallaconi  and 
Laselli  moved  toward  the  door,  and  the 
police  officer's  face  was  a  study. 

"  '  I  ran  away  with  the  man  I  love,' 
she  answered,  bravely. 

"  'It  is  a  lie ! '  shrieked  the  Italian. 
Saxondale  seized  his  hand  in  time  to  pre- 
vent the  drawing  of  a  revolver  from  his 
coat  pocket.  '  Damn  you !  This  is  a 
trick!' 

"  '  You  have  Miss  Garrison's  word  for  it, 
your  Excellency.  She  was  not  abducted, 
and  your  search  has  been  for  naught,'  said 
the  big  Englishman.  t  There  are  no  abduct- 
ors here.  The  famous  abduction  was  a 

299 


LITTLE     PILGKIMAGES 

part  of  the  game  and  it  was  abetted  by  the 
supposed  victim.' 

"  '  But  there  is  a  reward  for  her  return 
to  Brussels/  interrupted  the  Luxemburg 
official,  speaking  for  the  first  time.  '  I 
must  insist  that  she  come  with  me.' 

" '  The  reward  is  for  Miss  Dorothy 
Garrison,  is  it  not  ? '  demanded  Saxondale. 

"  '  Yes,  my  lord.' 

"  { Well,  as  you  cannot  get  out  of  the 
castle  and  your  friends  cannot  get  into 
it  until  we  open  the  doors,  there  is  abso- 
lutely no  possibility  of  your  taking  Dorothy 
Garrison  to  Brussels.' 

"  '  Do  you  mean  to  oppose  the  law  ? ' 
cried  Ugo,  panting  with  rage. 

" '  Gentlemen,  as  the  host  in  Castle 
Craneycrow,  I  invite  you  to  witness  the 
marriage  ceremony  which  is  to  make  it 
impossible  for  you  to  take  Dorothy  Garri- 
son to  Brussels.  You  have  come,  gentle- 
300 


GEOEGE    BAER    McCUTCHEON 

men  —  a  trifle  noisily  and  unkindly,  I 
admit  —  just  in  time  to  witness  the  wed- 
ding of  my  two  very  good  friends  who 
eloped  with  the  sound  of  wedding-bells  in 
their  ears.  Father  Bivot,  the  bride  and 
groom  await  you.' 

"  '  Dorothy,  my  darling ! '  whispered 
Quentin.  She  turned  her  burning  face 
away. 

"  '  It  is  my  way,  Phil.  I  love  you/  she 
murmured." 

The  words  "  The  End  "  follow;  and  all 
too  soon,  it  must  be  thought,  for  surely 
it  would  please  the  average  reader  to  have 
Prince  Ugo  well  punished.  For  him  to 
see  Dorothy  married  to  his  rival  was  not 
enough,  except  for  the  author's  romantic 
purposes.  The  tale  might  have  been  com- 
pleted with  a  few  lines  stating  the  black- 
hearted Italian's  consignment  to  the  ranks 

301 


LITTLE    PILGRIMAGES 

of  tourists'   guides  for  life,   or  to  some 
equally  severe  fate. 

The  scene  reveals  the  author's  strength 
and  weakness.  His  strength  is  demon- 
strated in  the  easy,  ingenious,  dramatic 
turns;  his  weakness  in  the  stereotyped 
phraseology.  Then,  too,  the  reader  must 
overlook  the  unconventionally  of  the  mar- 
riage, while  to  be  true  to  his  office  Father 
Bivot  could  not.  Our  romancers  are  wont 
to  blunder  when  they  touch  on  papistical 
ground.  Therefore,  too,  the  arrangement 
for  an  evening  service  in  the  Brussels 
cathedral,  with  a  bishop  to  officiate !  Mar- 
riages do  not  take  place  at  night  in  Catholic 
churches,  though  a  Catholic  priest  might 
privately,  in  a  house,  officiate  at  an  evening 
ceremony.  Besides,  though  Prince  Ugo  is 
presumably  a  Catholic,  it  is  nowhere  hinted 
that  Miss  Garrison  is  of  the  same  persua- 
sion, and  in  that  event  a  marriage  in  a 
302 


GEOKGE     BAKR    McCUTCHEOISr 

church  by  a  bishop  would  be  out  of  the 
question.  Such  foggy  situations  confuse 
careful  readers. 

"  I  will  say,  seriously,"  are  the  Western- 
er's words,  "  that  it  has  been  a  hard,  uphill 
fight,  and  I  should  like  to  congratulate, 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  the  author 
who  can  say  that  his  first  attempt  at  novel 
writing  found  a  publisher  waiting  and 
willing  to  take  it  off  his  hands.  The  Stand- 
ard Oil  Company  could  have  formed  a 
new  and  inexhaustible  trust  with  the  mid- 
night oil  I  have  burned." 

You  see,  sincerity  and  industry,  together 
with  his  talent,  are  at  the  bottom  of  Mr. 
McCutcheon's  success.  The  lightest  effects 
are  sometimes  produced  by  the  hardest 
efforts.  The  novelist's  words  recall  the  an- 
swer made  by  Tennyson  to  the  lady  who 
congratulated  him  on  a  particularly  grace- 
ful couplet.  "  Ah,  madam,"  said  the  poet, 

303 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

"  you   would    hardly   believe   how   many 
cigars  that  cost  ma" 

The  author's  latest  novel,  "  The  Sher- 
rods,"  has  been  running  serially  in  one 
of  the  monthly  magazines  this  year,  and, 
doubtless,  in  book  form,  it  will  prove  one 
of  the  popular  successes  of  the  new  season. 


304 


F.    HOPKINSON    SMITH. 


F.     HOPKIXSON     SMITH 


of  the  most  interesting  figures 
in  American  literature  is  F.  Hop- 
kinson  Smith.  He  does  something 
more  than  write  entertaining  stories  and 
paint  rich  pictures  and  build  sturdy  light- 
houses and  give  pleasing  readings:  he  is 
a  remarkably  strong  personality,  and  such 
a  personality,  particularly  when  it  turns 
to  the  right  side  of  current  events,  is  the 
most  interesting  of  all. 

When,  some  years  ago,  Mr.  Gladstone 
was  blowing  peas  at  the  Sultan  of  Turkey 
and  half  the  Christian  world  was  applaud- 
ing him,  Mr.  Smith,  who  knew  his  Con- 
stantinople and  his  sultan,  had  a  few  words 
to  say  from  another  point  of  view;  and 
if  he  did  not  make  a  single  convert,  he 

305 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

at  least  proved  his  own  fearlessness  (for 
he  had  much  to  lose  by  taking  that  unpop- 
ular position)  and  his  devotion  to  what 
seemed  to  him  to  be  the  truth. 

Again,  after  the  Dreyfus  trial,  he  re- 
fused to  exhibit  his  pictures  at  the  Paris 
Exposition  of  1900.  "  No,  sir,"  he  said. 
"  Ten  years  from  now  I  hope  to  be  able 
to  tell  my  friends  that  I  had  nothing  to 
do  with  the  French  nation  after  that  trial." 
He  was  second  only  to  Zola  himself  in 
condemning  the  French  generals  and  the 
mass  of  the  French  people. 

A  visitor  once  observed  that  it  was  a 
mystery  to  him  where  Mr.  Smith  found 
the  time  to  paint  so  many  pictures. 

"  Time !  "  exclaimed  the  artist  —  or  the 
author,  as  you  please.  "  Why,  there's 
time  enough.  If  artists  would  not  lounge 
about  their  studios  smoking  and  waiting 
for  an  inspiration,  they  would  accomplish 
306 


F.     HOPKINSON     SMITH 

a  great  deal  more.  I  believe  in  work.  If 
I  have  anything  to  accomplish  I  go  to  work, 
and  the  inspiration  will  come  when  I 
demand  its  presence.  When  I  was  last 
in  Venice  (this  was  in  1893)  I  painted 
steadily  for  fifty-three  days  ten  hours  a 
day,  and  finished  fifty-three  pictures,  and 
when  I  returned  to  New  York  I  sold  seven- 
teen of  those  pictures  for  six  thousand  dol- 
lars. I  never  forget  for  one  moment  that 
time  is  precious.  I  never  forget  that  the 
sun  does  not  stand  still,  and  if  a  man  is 
not  careful  the  sun  will  leave  him  with 
his  work  unfinished.  It  is  easy  enough 
to  accomplish  something  if  you  set  out 
for  it  in  earnest.  I  never  had  an  hour's 
instruction  in  art  in  my  life.  I  believed 
I  could  paint.  I  set  to  work,  and,  by  hard, 
patient  industry,  I  learned  what  little  I 
know  of  art.  Before  I  begin  work  I  ask 
myself  these  questions :  Is  it  worth  paint- 

307 


LITTLE    PILGRIMAGES 

ing?  After  it  is  painted  will  it  be  worth 
the  trouble  ?  Does  it  compose  well  ?  Will 
it  translate  into  black  and  white;  that  is, 
will  it  possess  strong  contrasts  of  light  and 
shade?  Satisfied  on  these  points,  I  don't 
waste  any  time.  I  don't  forget  that  the 
sun  is  moving;  that  in  three  hours  the 
whole  phase  of  the  scene  will  be  altered, 
and  if  I  don't  catch  that  light  now  I  never 
will  catch  it.  The  next  day  the  sky  and 
myself  will  not  be  the  same.  My  digestion 
may  be  disturbed  by  a  potato,  and  nature's 
face  may  be  clouded  for  some  reason. 

"  Am  I  an  impressionist  ?  No,  sir ;  but, 
if  you  will  permit  the  phrase,  I  am  an 
expressionist.  An  impressionist  says  too 
little  and  a  realist  says  too  much.  There 
are  three  things  an  artist  who  paints  out-of- 
doors  should  never  lose  sight  of :  the  tem- 
perature, the  time  of  day,  and  the  kind  of 
atmosphere,  —  the  veil  through  which  he 
308 


F.    HOPKINSON    SMITH 

is  looking,  the  percentage  of  humidity,  — 
which  involves  the  whole  range  between 
sunrise  and  sunset." 

These  remarks  (which  were  addressed  to 
a  friend  of  the  sketcher  in  Boston)  give  an 
idea  of  Mr.  Smith's  mental  vigour  and  of 
his  physical  energy.  It  is  such  vigour  and 
such  energy,  of  course,  which  breed  the 
solid  principles  governing  his  daily  life. 

Mr.  Smith  was  born  in  Baltimore,  Octo- 
ber 23,  1838,  the  son  of  Francis  Hopkin- 
son  and  Susan  Treackle  Smith.  He  went 
to  school  in  his  native  city,  and  studied 
with  the  intention  of  entering  Princeton; 
but  the  year  before  he  could  carry  out  this 
intention  his  father  met  a  business  reverse. 
This  event  changed  the  course  of  young 
Smith's  life.  Instead  of  going  to  college, 
he  went  to  work  in  a  hardware  store,  his 
salary  being  fifty  dollars  a  year.  His  age 
was  then  sixteen.  A  couple  of  years  later 

309 


LITTLE    PILGRIMAGES 

lie  became  assistant  superintendent  in  a 
Baltimore  iron  foundry  owned  by  an  older 
brother;  but  the  war  broke  out,  and  the 
foundry  shut  down.  For  the  second  time 
the  boy  was  thrown  upon  his  own  resources. 

Then  he  left  his  native  Baltimore  to 
take  a  position  in  New  York  —  with  a 
friend  of  the  family  who  happened  to  be 
in  the  iron  business.  It  was  while  thus 
engaged  that,  at  the  age  of  twenty-five, 
Smith  made  up  his  mind  to  be  an  engineer. 
After  awhile  he  began  to  branch  out  on 
his  own  hook,  and  finally  he  formed  a 
partnership  with  James  Symington,  among 
whose  attributes  was  a  propensity  to  dabble 
in  art. 

The  first  big  contract  the  firm  undertook 
to  fill  was  the  construction  of  the  stone 
ice-breaker  around  the  Bridgeport  Light- 
house. This  was  followed  in  time  by  the 
building  of  the  breakwater  at  Block  Island, 
310 


F.     HOPKINSON     SMITH 

the  jetties  at  the  mouth  of  the  Connecticut 
River,  the  sea-wall  on  Governor's  Island, 
New  York  harbour,  the  foundation  and 
pedestal  for  the  Statue  of  Liberty,  on  Bed- 
loe's  Island,  and  the  Race  Rock  Light- 
house, at  New  London.  Those,  perhaps, 
are  the  best-known  works  of  the  firm.  Mr. 
Smith  was  once  asked  what  engineering 
work  of  his  gave  him  the  most  satisfaction, 
and  he  replied :  "  The  Race  Rock  Light- 
house." 

In  his  house  in  New  York  City,  Smith 
has  a  framed  bond  given  by  his  great- 
grandfather, Francis  Hopkinson,  one  of 
the  signers  of  the  Declaration  of  Independ- 
ence, as  security  for  a  loan,  and  the  lender's 
receipt,  proving  the  aforesaid  ancestor's 
integrity.  It  is  undoubtedly  from  this 
Francis  Hopkinson  that  our  romancist  has 
inherited  his  love  for  art,  if  such  a  love  be 
a  matter  of  heredity,  and  not  a  spontaneous 

311 


LITTLE     PILGRIMAGES 

passion  happily  fostered.  Francis  Hop- 
kinson  was  an  amateur  in  water-colours. 
Another  ancestor,  a  great-uncle,  Judge 
Joseph  Hopkinson,  was  the  first  president 
of  the  excellent  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  a 
Philadelphia  institution;  and  the  judge 
likewise  had  a  taste  for  the  brush.  Hop- 
kinson Smith  tried  his  hand  at  water- 
colours  when  he  was  a  boy.  To-day  he 
ranks  among  the  foremost  of  our  artists. 

In  a  word,  he  has  succeeded  admirably 
in  three  professions  —  engineering,  paint- 
ing, and  literature ;  and  his  extraordinary 
achievements  fully  support  his  rule  that 
enthusiasm  and  industry  cannot  be  de- 
feated. 

He  was  forty-five  when  he  stepped  into 
the  literary  world.  At  that  time  he  had 
prepared  for  reproduction  as  illustrations 
a  series  of  water-colours  picturing  odd 
spots  of  the  world  that  he  had  visited  in 
312 


F.     HOPKINSON    SMITH 

his  delightful,  enviable  vagrancy.  The 
publisher  asked  him  if  he  wouldn't  furnish 
a  little  reading-matter  for  each  plate; 
and  the  outcome  of  this  was  his  first  book, 
"Well-Worn  Boads."  The  book,  on  ac- 
count of  its  strong  attractiveness  to  art- 
lovers,  was  instantly  successful.  This,  to- 
gether with  "  Old  Lines  in  New  Black 
and  White/'  and  "  A  White  Umbrella  in 
Mexico,"  well  maintained  his  literary 
reputation  until  the  arrival  of  the  still 
charming  "  Colonel  Carter  of  Carters- 
ville,"  which  solidified  it.  This  romance 
was  one  of  the  most  popular  books  of  its 
day;  and  there  are  critics  who  aver  that 
it  remains  its  author's  best  effort.  How- 
ever, to  those  who  will  have  him  at  his 
best,  plaiting  romance  with  the  chat  of  a 
rare  artist,  we  recommend  the  all  too  scant 
volume  known  as  "  A  Day  at  Laguerre's 
and  Other  Days."  It  is  the  very  essence 

313 


LITTLE     PILGKIMAGES 

of  delightf  ulness  —  intimate,  observant, 
philosophical,  polished,  and  sufficiently 
disconnected  to  be  full  of  piquant  reflec- 
tions and  descriptions.  It  is  much  like 
the  author's  conversation  is  reported  to 
be  —  somewhat  breezy,  ebullient,  refresh- 
ing. 

The  introduction  betrays  the  man.  Do 
you  remember  it? 

"  These  light  sketches  are  the  records, 
I  must  confess,  of  some  more  idle  days 
stolen  from  a  busy  and  far  more  practical 
life.  I  have  committed  these  depradations 
upon  myself  for  years,  and  have  then  run 
off  to  the  far  corners  of  the  earth  and  sat 
down  in  some  forgotten  nook  to  enjoy  my 
plunder. 

"  The  villainy,  strange  to  say,  has  only 
served  to  open  my  eyes  the  wider  —  and 
my  heart,  too,  for  that  matter  —  and  to 

314 


F.    HOPKINSOST    SMITH 

bring  me  closer  to  my  many  fellow  tramps 
who  have  delighted  my  soul  and  still  do. 

"  Idle  tramps,  if  you  will,  who  love  the 
sunlight  and  simple  fare  and  simple  ways ; 
ne'er-do-wells,  who  haunt  the  cafes  and 
breakfast  at  twelve;  vagrants  made  mil- 
lionaires by  a  melon  and  a  cigarette ;  men- 
dicants who  own  a  donkey  and  a  pair  of 
panniers,  have  three  feast-days  a  week, 
earn  but  half  a  handful  of  copper  coin, 
and  sing  all  day  for  the  very  joy  of  living. 

"  If  you  can  unhook  your  neck  from  the 
new  car  of  Juggernaut  —  American  Prog- 
ress —  which  is  crushing  out  the  sweet- 
ness of  an  old-timed,  simpler  life,  and 
would  gain  a  little  freedom,  turn  bandit 
yourself.  If  you  have  the  pluck  to  take  a 
long  rest,  the  sun  is  still  blazing  along  the 
Grand  Canal  in  dear  old  Venice.  If  you 
can  only  muster  up  courage  for  a  short 
breathing-spell,  —  even  a  day,  —  there  is 

315 


LITTLE    PILGBIMAGES 

still  a  chop  to  be  served  under  the  vines 
overhanging  the  Bronx." 

Of  course  he  intended  this  little  bit  of 
intimacy  —  this  characteristic  little  bit  — 
for  New  York  readers.  But  he  would  say 
the  same  thing  to  Bostonians,  to  Philadel- 
phians,  to  Calif ornians.  He  is  of  the 
rare  sort  of  men  —  part  artists  and  part 
philosophers  —  who  find  beauty  in  places 
wherefrom  the  natives  have  departed  in 
search  of  beauty.  The  sense  of  beauty,  it 
seems,  must  be  in  the  heart  as  well  as  in 
the  eye.  Mr.  Smith  would  be  a  pleasant 
.companion  for  a  stroll  through  the  Public 
Garden,  in  Boston,  through  Central  Park, 
through  Fairmount  Park,  Philadelphia,  or 
along  the  shores  of  the  Great  Lakes.  At 
the  same  time,  he  has  been  passionately 
attached  to  his  dear  old  Venice.  Perhaps 
to  himself,  as  to  many  others,  has  come 
the  appreciation  of  the  beauties  at  home 
316 


F.     HOPKIlSrSON    SMITH 

only  after  an  acquaintance  with  the  beau- 
ties abroad.  However,  he  is  a  man  of 
singularly  warm  attachments. 

Apropos  of  his  conclusions  from  his  own 
experiences,  he  had  an  interesting  talk 
with  a  friend  of  the  writer  of  "  Little 
Pilgrimages  "  a  few  years  ago. 

"  I  believe,"  he  said  at  the  time,  "  that 
it  is  far  better  for  a  man,  when  he  has 
any  creative  endowment,  and  has  a  passion 
for  art  for  its  own  sake  and  not  as  a  mere 
means  of  making  money,  to  go  into  some 
occupation  which  will  earn  him  a  liveli- 
hood, and  then  in  his  evenings  and  on  his 
Sundays  he  can  take  down  his  Aladdin's 
lamp  and  give  it  a  rub.  I  think  in  this 
way  a  man  keeps  his  art  high  and  noble, 
his  worthiest  and  best  expression.  He 
does  not  have  to  hurry  over  his  work  and 
he  does  not  have  to  meet  popular  demands. 
He  does  the  best  that  is  in  him  all  the 

317 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

while  —  and,  perhaps,  one  day,  through 
constant  rubbing,  the  Aladdin's  lamp  may 
make  his  other  work  unnecessary  and  then 
he  can  devote  himself  to  doing  the  highest 
work  of  which  he  is  capable." 

But  he  was  not  unaware  of  the  objection, 
we  believe,  that  the  day's  work  takes  some 
of  the  oil  theoretically  belonging  to  the 
Aladdin's  lamp. 

"  The  trouble  with  literary  life,"  he 
went  on  to  say  to  this  same  visitor,  "  is  that 
it  has  its  perpetual  temptations  to  rest  sat- 
isfied with  the  market  standard,  in  order 
to  get  the  necessary  market  price.  When 
a  writer  or  an  artist  says  to  himself,  '  It 
isn't  good,  but  I  guess  it  will  do,'  he  may 
make  a  success,  but  he  will  never  obtain 
the  satisfaction  which  is  the  artist's  real 
reward. 

"  Well,  this  is  the  bribe  of  poor  human 
nature.  The  great  artist  is  so  swallowed 
318 


F.     HOPKINSON    SMITH 

up  in  the  moralities  of  his  art  that  he 
would  as  soon  sully  his  conscience  as  mar 
his  paper  or  his  canvas.  For  these  stern 
moralists  my  heart  glows  with  enthu- 
siasm." 

Many  autobiographical  touches  have 
been  recognized  by  close  readers  of  "  Tom 
Grogan,"  "Caleb  West,"  and  ^  Oliver 
Horn ;  "  indeed,  the  latter  book  is  well- 
known  to  be  strongly  reflective  of  Mr. 
Smith's  own  views  and  experiences.  He 
has  realized  the  ideal  of  a  satisfied  exist- 
ence. This  does  not  mean,  of  course,  that 
he  is  satisfied  with  his  performances;  it 
means  rather  that  he  is  happy  in  having 
followed  his  own  bent  in  all  things. 
"  There  are  few  men  living,"  it  has  been 
said  of  him,  "  who  have  got  so  much  out 
of  life."  His  house  in  Thirty-fourth 
Street,  New  York,  has  been  described  as 
not  exactly  his  home;  it  has  been  de- 

319 


LITTLE    PILGBIMAGES 

scribed  as  "  a  sort  of  entrepot  and  head- 
quarters, where  he  stores  the  spoils  of 
travel,  and  now  and  then  stays  over 
night." 

"  The  Under  Dog,"  his  new  book,  is  a 
collection  of  tales  dealing,  as  the  title  sug- 
gests, with  men  whom  the  world  has  used 
hard.  It  is  characteristically  dramatic  and 
poetic,  and  it  is  lifted  above  the  average 
by  its  serious  purpose  and  its  ideal  pres- 
entation of  justice. 

With  the  exception  of  Mark  Twain,  none 
of  our  authors  is  better  known  than  Hop- 
kinson  Smith,  for  lecturing,  which  takes 
him  hither  and  thither  publicly,  is  one  of 
his  numerous  avocations.  He  is  a  rather 
tall,  well-built  man.  His  characteristics 
—  energy,  vivacity,  good  nature,  earnest- 
ness —  are  all  prominent.  There  is  no 
mistaking  the  man  after  a  moment's  study 
of  him,  and  particularly  after  a  short  talk 
320 


F.     HOPKINSON     SMITH 

with  him.  His  manner  of  thinking  and 
his  manner  of  expressing  his  thoughts  are 
alike  vigorous.  Some  people,  meeting 
him  for  the  first  time  and  not  knowing 
him,  might  take  him  for  an  army  officer, 
and  others  might  take  him  for  a  prosperous 
business  man.  If  he  has  any  strong  affec- 
tations, he  effectually  conceals  them.  "  The 
man  impresses  one,"  said  a  literary  friend 
of  his  once,  "  as  having  enormous  physical 
and  intellectual  powers,  with  which  are 
blended  the  fine  sensibilities  of  a  woman, 
and  a  delicacy  of  fancy  and  sentiment 
rarely  found  in  one  personality." 

Precisely.  It  is  that  blend  which  has 
made  Mr.  Smith  one  of  the  most  interest- 
ing figures  of  contemporaneous  life. 


321 


BOOTH    TARKINGTON. 


BOOTH    TARKINGTOtf 


rHE  manuscript  of  that  little  gem, 
"  Monsieur   Beaucaire,"    lay    in 
Booth     Tarkington's     desk    two 
years  before  the  author  had  the  requisite 
courage  and  confidence  to  submit  it  to  a 
publisher. 

But  you  —  you  who  have  read  the  mem- 
orable story  —  will  say,  "  Why  should  the 
author  of  e  Monsieur  Beaucaire '  lack 
courage  or  confidence  ?  " 

Let  this  fact  answer:  During  the  five 
years  previous  to  the  instant  success  of  the 
tale  of  the  adventurous  Duke  of  Orleans, 
the  young  Indiana  author  had  earned  ex- 
actly twenty-two  dollars  and  fifty  cents  by 
his  literary  labours.  Moreover,  even  that 
small  total  was  paid  to  him  by  a  comic 

323 


LITTLE    FILGEIMAGES 

weekly  —  Life.  For  five  long,  hard,  am- 
bitious, yearning  years  no  one  would  take 
him  seriously.  No  one  but  himself. 

In  1899,  when  "  Monsieur  Beaucaire  " 
appeared,  Mr.  Tarkington  was  thirty  years 
old.  The  seed  long  since  planted  had 
sprouted  and  flowered  at  last. 

"  At  an  early  age,"  once  said  the  gentle- 
man from  Indiana  to  a  friend,  "  my  mind 
revolved  around  bits  of  local  history,  and 
when  too  young  to  write  easily,  my  sister 
acted  as  my  amanuensis.  To  her  I  dictated 
my  early  impressions,  and  delighted  in 
stories  of  daring  and  adventurous  life. 
Jesse  James,  the  desperado,  appealed  to  my 
youthful  fancy,  and,  in  consequence,  my 
early  attempts  at  composition  invariably 
commenced,  '  It  was  dusk,  and  four  horse- 
men were  seen  riding  over  the  top  of  the 
hill.'  With  my  companions,  I  fashioned 
a  stage  in  my  father's  barn,  and  there  we 
324 


BOOTH     TAKKINGTON 

enacted  '  The  Escapades  of  Jesse  James/ 
from  my  pen,  charging  an  admission  of 
three  cents.  How  distinctly  I  remember 
the  barroom  scene,  always  too  short  to  my 
way  of  thinking,  with  the  crack  of  the 
pistol  shots!  And  how  poignant  was  my 
regret  that  I  could  not  play  both  Jesse 
James  and  Bob  Ford,  his  slayer." 

As  the  boy  was,  so,  in  this  case,  was  the 
young  man.  The  earnest  pursuits  of  Booth 
Tarkington  in  his  twenties  were  literature 
and  the  stage. 

Tarkington,  Newton  Booth,  was  born  in 
Indianapolis,  Indiana,  July  29,  1869.  He 
was  named  after  an  uncle,  Newton  Booth, 
who  distinguished  himself  not  only  as  an 
orator  but  also  as  a  governor  of  California. 
This  uncle  was  related  to  the  famous  actors 
of  that  name.  Hence,  doubtless,  the  young 
man's  dramatic  instinct  and  his  fondness 

325 


LITTLE    PILGRIMAGES 

for  the  stage  —  a  fondness,  we  are  told, 
amounting  to  real  talent. 

In  another  line  he  is  descended  from  a 
somewhat  noted  orator  and  scholar  of  Rev- 
olutionary times,  the  Rev.  Thomas  Hooker. 
His  great-grandmother  was  the  lovely 
Mary  Newton  who  ornaments  the  "  Annals 
of  Old  Salem."  From  his  mother  the 
young  author  inherits  the  French  strains 
that  account  for  his  leaning  toward 
French  history,  in  this  country  and  in  the 
old  country,  and  probably  also  for  the 
vivacity  of  his  style.  For,  notably  in 
"  The  Two  Vanrevels,"  Booth  Tarkington 
has  exhibited  rare  style  as  well  as  rare 
dramatic  instinct.  "  The  Two  Vanrevels  " 
is  probably  as  excellent  a  literary  product 
as  any  young  man  ever  achieved. 

Booth  was  prepared  for  college  (after 
the  usual  attendance  at  the  public  schools 
of  his  native  city)  at  Phillips  Exeter 
326 


BOOTH     TAKKINGTON 

Academy,  in  New  Hampshire ;  but,  unlike 
most  Exeter  boys,  he  did  not  go  to  Har- 
vard, but  to  Purdue,  and  then  to  Prince- 
ton. At  Exeter  he  gave  promise  of  what 
was  to  come,  for  he  showed  exceptional 
ability  in  speaking,  writing,  and  drawing. 
This  promise  he  strengthened  year  by 
year.  With  his  first  serious  story  he  won 
the  prize  offered  by  the  Nassau  Lit,  one  of 
the  Princeton  papers;  and  shortly  after- 
ward he  was  elected  editor  of  the  Lit, 
Then  he  rejuvenated  the  Tiger,  another 
Princeton  paper,  and  for  a  long  time  was 
its  principal  editor  and  illustrator.  With 
a  college  mate  named  Wheeler  he  collabo- 
rated on  an  opera,  which  he  staged  and 
directed,  and  in  which  he  took  a  promi- 
nent part.  The  piece  proved  so  successful 
that  it  was  repeated  the  next  year  and  the 
next.  He  was  a  soloist  at  many  of  the 
Princeton  Glee  Club's  entertainments, 

327 


LITTLE     PILGEIMAGES 

and,  besides,  he  wrote  most  of  the  songs 
sung  by  the  club  in  his  day.  He  set  Poe's 
"  Kaven  "  to  music. 

But  this  was  by  no  means  the  end  of 
his  versatility.  He  won  distinction  in  the 
college  dramas,  and  he  wrote  the  prize  song 
for  Commencement  in  1893. 

One  of  the  Princeton  men  of  a  decade 
ago  has  said  that  Tarkington  "  had  a  pleas- 
ing baritone  voice,  well  suited  to  solo  parts 
of  college  glees,  and  he  was  always  called 
upon  for  a  song  when  the  seniors  were 
singing  on  the  steps  of  Nassau  Hall  in  the 
evenings  of  the  spring  of  ?93." 

After  college  —  what?  That  is  the 
question  which  many  a  youth  fearfully 
ponders. 

In    the    December     (1902)     Outlook, 
Charles  Hall  Garrett  gave  an  account  of 
this  crucial  time  in  the  life  of  the  subject 
of  this  sketch.    The  account  ran: 
328 


BOOTH    TARKINGTON 

"  One  balmy  summer  evening  Mr. 
Booth  Tarkington,  after  his  graduation 
from  Princeton,  stood  idly  with  a  group 
of  friends  on  the  porch  of  the  Garden 
House  at  Jamestown,  Rhode  Island, 
watching  the  dancers  within. 

"  *  Booth,'  asked  one  who  had  known 
him  for  years,  ( what  are  you  going  to 
do  now  that  you  have  graduated  ? ' 

" '  I  think/  he  said,  with  a  certain 
amount  of  earnestness,  '  I  will  enter  jour- 
nalism.' 

"  In  vain  for  years,"  continues  Mr. 
Garrett,  "  he  sought  recognition,  always 
rewriting  his  returned  manuscripts,  never 
being  satisfied  with  the  work  of  his  pen, 
persevering,  till  the  way  opened  and  two 
novels  were  accepted  at  once. 

"  While  at  Princeton  he  drew  for  one 
of  the  college  papers  and  wrote  for  two 
others.  In  one  can  be  found  almost  the 

329 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

entire  circus  scene  from  '  The  Gentleman 
from  Indiana,'  Although,  after  gradua- 
tion, he  desired  to  become  a  writer,  he 
began  the  study  of  art. 

"  '  But,'  said  Mr.  Tarkington,  '  I  never 
advanced  beyond  technique.  I  sent  a 
drawing  and  a  joke  to  Life.  The  draw- 
ing was  accepted  and  the  joke  rejected. 
A  subsequent  drawing  and  joke  were  re- 
versed in  the  matter  of  acceptance.  I  fol- 
lowed them  up  with  forty  drawings,  all 
of  which  were  refused.  It  was  the  dis- 
proportionate return  for  my  work  that  for 
ever  decided  me  to  undertake  journal- 
ism.' " 

Idle  decision,  and  futile.  Fate  was  to 
be  kinder  than  that  to  him !  The  journal- 
ism into  which  he  drifted  was  of  the 
amateur,  impoverishing  kind,  and  very 
soon  he  got  out  of  it  and  went  home  to 
Indianapolis. 
330 


BOOTH     TAKKINGTON 

There,  before  long,  he  found  himself 
taking  a  hearty  interest  in  an  amateur 
dramatic  club.  Three  plays  which  he 
wrote  for  this  organization  were  so  re- 
markably popular  that  he  was  thereby  in- 
duced to  rewrite  them  and  to  attempt  to 
have  at  least  one  of  them  brought  out  on 
the  professional  stage.  In  1895  he  came 
East  to  New  York  for  that  purpose,  but, 
failing,  he  returned  home. 

"  I  then  wrote  a  story,"  he  has  said  him- 
self, "  of  fifty  thousand  words.  It  was 
refused  by  many  publishers,  but  became 
the  greater  part  of  '  The  Gentleman  from 
Indiana/  so  my  pains  were  not  thrown 
away.  I  submitted  '  Monsieur  Beaucaire  * 
to  McClure's,  which  they  liked,  and  wrote 
to  me  asking  me  to  call,  and  inquiring  if 
I  had  written  anything  else.  I  spoke  of 
'  The  Gentleman  from  Indiana,'  which  was 
in  an  unfinished  state.  They  asked  to  see 

331 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

it,  advised  me  to  complete  it,  and  then 
to  do  a  little  pruning,  and  I  might  say 
that  I  did  not  spare  it,  but  slashed,  con- 
densed, and  rewrote  the  book  from  begin- 
ning to  end ;  always  bearing  in  mind  that 
it  was  to  be  a  serial,  that  each  instalment 
should  in  some  way  make  reference  to  the 
past,  and  have  an  ending  both  satisfactory 
and  carrying  "  —  which  the  publishers  ex- 
cused him  from  doing  in  "  The  Two  Van- 
revels." 

In  1899,  after  the  publication  of  "  Mon- 
sieur Beaucaire,"  Tarkington  was  referred 
to  commonly  as  "  the  young  author  who  has 
suddenly  sprung  into  popularity ;  "  but 
we  have  seen  how  deceptive  was  that 
phrase.  That  paltry  $22.50  represented  the 
sum  total  of  all  the  previous  years  of  hard, 
incessant  work  —  work  at  college,  work  in 
"New  York,  in  1895,  for  that  short-lived 
magazine  called  John- A  -Dreams,  to  which 
332 


BOOTH     TARKINGTON 

he  contributed  under  the  pen-name  of  S. 
Cecil  Woodf  ord,  work  for  the  Indianapolis 
papers  under  the  name  of  John  Corbuton, 
and  work  which  went  forth  only  to  return. 

"  Writing  is  a  trade,"  said  Tarkington 
to  a  guest  at  his  home  last  year,  "  and,  like 
any  other  trade,  it  must  be  learned.  We 
must  serve  our  apprenticeship;  but  we 
must  work  it  out  alone.  There  are  no 
teachers.  We  must  learn  by  failure  and 
by  repeated  effort  how  the  thing  should  be 
done." 

Tarkington's  struggle  upward  bears 
some  resemblance  to  that  of  his  master, 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  whom  he  has 
studied  faithfully,  if  not  accepted  as  a 
model.  One  cannot  read  ten  pages  of 
"  The  Two  Vanrevels  "  without  recalling 
the  liveliness  and  the  grace  of  the  writer 
of  "The  Wreckers"  — which,  by  the 

333 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

way,  is  Tarkington's  favourite  among  Ste- 
venson's books. 

"  The  Two  Vanrevels "  (which  was 
elaborated  out  of  a  short  tale  written  years 
before)  is  a  step  far  in  advance  of  "  Mon- 
sieur Beaucaire "  and  "  The  Gentleman 
from  Indiana,"  It  is  combined  of  the 
charm  of  the  first  and  the  strength  of  the 
second.  It  has  poetry,  imagination,  vigour, 
the  true  dramatic  touch,  the  relieving 
sense  of  humour.  It  is  Stevensonian,  yet 
it  has  a  fineness  all  its  own.  Note  the 
vividness  and  the  delicacy  of  the  picture 
of  the  heroine  waiting  outside  the  house 
in  which  the  reckless  admirable  Crailey 
Gray  had  died  of  his  wound: 

"  It  was  between  twilight  and  candle- 
light, the  gentle  half-hour  when  the  kind 
old  Sand  Man  steals  up  the  stairs  of  houses 
where  children  are;  when  rustic  lovers 
stroll  with  slow  and  quiet  steps  down  coun- 
334 


BOOTH     TARKINGTON 

try  lanes,  and  old  bachelors  are  loneliest 
and  dream  of  the  things  that  might  have 
been.  Through  the  silence  of  the  clear 
dusk  came  the  whistle  of  the  evening  boat 
that  was  to  bear  Tom  Vanrevel  through 
the  first  stage  of  his  long  journey  to  the 
front  of  war,  and  the  sound  fell  cheerlessly 
upon  Miss  Betty's  ear,  as  she  stood  lean- 
ing against  the  sun-dial  among  the  lilac 
bushes.  Her  attitude  was  not  one  of 
reverie;  yet  she  stood  very  still,  so  still 
that,  in  the  wan  shimmer  of  the  fading 
afterglow,  one  might  have  passed  close  by 
her  and  not  have  seen  her.  The  long,  dark 
folds  of  her  gown  showed  faintly  against 
the  gray  stone,  and  her  arms,  bare  from  the 
elbow,  lay  across  the  face  of  the  dial  with 
unrelaxed  fingers  clenching  the  cornice; 
her  head  drooping,  not  languidly,  but  with 
tension,  her  eyes  half-closed,  showing  the 
lashes  against  a  pale  cheek;  and  thus, 

335 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

motionless,  leaning  on  the  stone  in  the 
dusk,  she  might  have  been  Sorrow's  self." 

A  few  lines,  as  an  artist  would  say,  but 
how  effective ! 

Whether  "  Monsieur  Beaucaire "  is  a 
pure  bit  of  fiction  is  immaterial;  but  we 
know  that  "  The  Gentleman  from  In- 
diana "  and  "The  Two  Vanrevels "  are 
reflections  of  Indiana  history.  Mr.  Tark- 
ington  obtained  much  of  the  material  for 
i(  The  Two  Vanrevels  "  from  his  mother's 
girlhood  memories  of  the  old  town  of 
Rouen,  in  Indiana ;  and  undoubtedly  that 
is  why  the  book  has  so  much  "  atmosphere." 
As  for  the  other  novel,  when  it  was  being 
published  serially  the  author  was  severely 
criticized  for  what  some  Hoosiers  regarded 
as  disloyalty  to  the  State.  As  the  Bourbons 
of  Rouen  attacked  Vanrevel  for  his  poor 
opinion  of  Polk,  so  these  later  hotheads  at 
first  called  the  novelist  snob  and  traitor, 
336 


BOOTH    TAEKINGTOIsr 

and  advised  him  to  leave  Indiana.  "  It 
never  occurred  to  me  to  be  disloyal,"  said 
he,  long  afterward,  "  and  I  was  glad  when 
the  story  was  finished,  and  they  saw  that 
they  were  mistaken." 

Mr.  Tarkington  is  of  medium  height. 
Previous  to  his  marriage  to  Miss  Laura 
Louisa  Fletcher,  of  Indianapolis,  which 
took  place  on  June  18,  1902,  he  was  an 
inveterate  club-man.  At  the  last  State 
election  he  became  a  member  of  the  Legis- 
lature. So  we  have  two  of  our  popular 
novelists  actively  engaged  in  politics  — 
the  author  of  "  The  Two  Vanrevels  "  and 
the  author  of  "  The  Crisis." 

Of  course  they  tell  a  great  many  stories 
about  the  Indiana  romancist.  One  night 
last  year  he  met  the  Japanese  Minister, 
M.  Kogoro,  and  Judge  McMillan,  of  "New 
Mexico,  in  one  of  the  New  York  hotels, 

337 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

and,  as  sometimes  will  happen,  the  three 
men  tried  to  measure  one  another's  power. 

"  I  can  govern  by  injunctions,"  said  the 
judge. 

"  I  can  involve  nations  in  war,"  said  the 
diplomat. 

"Well,  I  could,  if  I  would,  make  the 
whole  world  laugh  at  you,"  said  the  author 
to  them.  They  then  acknowledged  that 
the  pen  was  still  mightiest. 

Then  there  is  the  doughnut  episode, 
which  became  a  national  joke.  It  seems 
that  Tarkington .  owned  —  and  may  still 
own  —  a  small  corner  lot  in  Indianapolis 
where  stood  a  baker's  shop.  A  citizen 
residing  near  by  complained  that  the 
smell  of  cooking  doughnuts  was  offen- 
sive, and,  as  he  got  no  satisfaction  out  of 
his  complaint,  he  brought  suit,  in  which 
the  baker  and  the  novelist  were  co-der 
fendants.  This  started  the  report  that 
338 


BOOTH    TAKKINGTON 

Tarkington  was  in  the  doughnut  business, 
and  for  months  he  shared  with  the  trust 
magnates  and  the  country  bumpkins  the 
distinction  of  occupying  the  humourists'  at- 
tention. 

"  I  don't  expect  to  live  that  story  down," 
hopelessly  remarked  the  victim. 


339 


OWEN    WISTER. 


OWEN    WISTER 


/N  "The  Virginian"  Owen  Wister 
may  be  said  to  have  found  himself. 
For  years,  though  not  steadily,  he 
had  been  trying  to  produce  a  genuine  note- 
worthy book;  and  just  as  the  public  was  on 
the  verge  of  completely  losing  sight  of  him, 
and  just  as  the  critics  were  about  to  give 
him  up  as  a  hopeless  case,  he  produced  his 
masterpiece  —  a  romance  of  which,  on  the 
whole,  the  most  famous  of  our  writers 
might  well  be  proud  —  a  romance  well 
qualified  for  mention  as  the  "  great  Amer- 
ican novel." 

"  The  Virginian "  was  the  foremost 
book  of  1902,  and  it  bids  fair  to  be  a  pop- 
ular book  for  many  years  to  come.  It  is 
historical;  it  is  romantic;  it  combines 

341 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

all  the  elements  that  attract  popularity; 
and,  besides,  it  is  unique  in  its  subject  and 
in  its  style.  The  subject,  the  unpolished 
days  of  the  West,  must  always  be  interest- 
ing to  Americans ;  indeed,  it  must  grow  in 
interest  as  those  days  recede ;  and  the  style 
is  like  the  subject,  lacking  polish  and  yet 
winning  admiration. 

Now,  a  word  about  the  author  before  we 
touch  on  the  book.  Mr.  Wister  was  born 
in  Philadelphia,  July  14,  1860.  He  is 
the  fourth  generation  of  his  family  in 
direct  descent  that  has  occupied  itself  with 
literature.  After  a  forebear  was  named 
the  creeping  wistaria ;  and  the  great  Fanny 
Kemble  was  his  maternal  grandmother. 
When  he  was  ten  years  of  age  he  went 
abroad  with  his  family;  and  abroad  he 
spent  three  years.  He  returned  to  this 
country  to  enter  St.  Paul's  School,  at 
Concord,  New  Hampshire,  a  well-known 
342 


OWEN    WISTEK 


school  for  boys  of  the  old  families;  and 
there  he  studied  until  his  eighteenth  year, 
when  he  matriculated  at  Harvard. 

Even  then  the  literary  aptitude  was 
more  than  superficial  in  him.  He  had 
written  his  first  little  piece  for  the  paper 
at  St.  Paul's  School,  in  1873,  that  is, 
shortly  after  his  arrival  at  Concord.  At 
Harvard  he  wrote  the  libretto  for  one  of 
the  Hasty  Pudding  shows  — '"  Dido  and 
^neas  "  was  the  name  of  the  production. 

In  his  junior  year  he  wrote  a  poem  on 
Beethoven,  which  the  Atlantic  Monthly 
published.  So,  not  unexpectedly,  toward 
the  end  of  his  college  life  he  began  to  take 
a  student's  interest  in  music,  and  when 
he  was  graduated,  in  the  class  of  1882,  he 
carried  off  the  highest  honours  in  that 
divine  branch  of  learning. 

This  achievement  induced  him  to  elect 
a  musical  career  for  himself,  and  with 

343 


LITTLE     PILGEIMAGES 

this  idea  firmly  in  mind  he  went  abroad 
immediately  after  his  graduation.  He 
sought  Liszt,  and  the  great  musician  ad- 
vised him  to  study  composition  in  Paris. 
The  next  year  circumstances  obliged  him 
to  abandon  his  musical  studies. 

Failing  in  health  soon  after  his  return 
to  America  he  went  elk  hunting  in  the  far 
West  —  in  Wyoming  and  Arizona.  This 
trip  caused  the  current  of  his  life  to  revert 
to  its  original  channel. 

That  is  to  say,  leaving  forms  and  con- 
ventionalities behind,  his  inherited  spirit 
found  bolder  play,  his  imagination  found 
wider  range,  his  naturally  kindly  heart 
found  a  larger  opportunity.  In  short,  he 
found  the  West  inspiriting,  invigorating; 
a  cure  for  bodily  ailments  and  a  tonic  for 
mental  forces. 

In  1885,  having  regained  his  health,  he 
entered  the  Harvard  Law  School.  This 
344 


OWEN    WISTER 


was  the  third  turn  in  his  life.  First  liter- 
ature; second,  music;  now,  law.  Two 
years  later  he  was  a  Bachelor  of  Laws  and 
a  Master  of  Arts.  Then  he  started  to  estab- 
lish a  practice  for  himself.  However,  each 
effort  in  this  line  was  opposed  by  a  new 
desire  to  go  West  again. 

For  more  than  a  hundred  years  the  West 
has  fascinated  nearly  every  native  Ameri- 
can, if  not  to  the  extent  of  drawing  him 
to  her  prairies  and  her  sublime  mountains, 
at  least  to  the  extent  of  arousing  his  in- 
terest in  her  wild  picturesqueness  and  her 
variegated  characters. 

Finally,  after  spending  a  few  years 
swinging  between  the  Delaware  and  the 
Rockies,  he  gave  himself  up  entirely  to 
the  spirit  of  the  West;  that  is  to  say,  he 
left  law  for  literature,  left  the  life  prosaic 
for  the  life  imaginative. 

The  first  product  was  "  The  Dragon  of 

345 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

Wantley,"  a  forgotten  story  which  ap- 
peared in  1892.  Three  years  later  ap- 
peared "  Red  Men  and  White,"  which  in 
a  sense  was  the  precursor  of  "  The  Vir- 
ginian." But  "  Red  Men  and  White  "  was 
not  of  a  popular  nature.  The  critics  rec- 
ognized its  virility,  and  the  students  of 
American  history  recognized  its  lifelike- 
ness;  but  the  general  reading  public 
missed  these  fine  points.  Its  atmosphere 
was  depressing;  and  that  is  a  condition 
from  which  the  general  run  of  the  people 
will  always  turn.  "  Lin  McLean,"  which 
came  out  in  1897,  met  the  same  fate: 
while  praised  by  the  most  discriminating 
critics,  it  was  shunned  by  the  general.  To 
them  it  was  truly  caviare. 

Yet  what  the  careful  critics  said  of  these 

books  was  sufficient  to  encourage  Mr.  Wis- 

ter  to  keep  to  the  trail.     In  the  ten  years 

following  his   graduation   from   the   law 

346 


OWEN    WISTER 


school  he  had  made  some  fifteen  trips 
West;  and  though  he  had  not  learned  to 
shoot  a  half-dollar  through  the  centre  while 
riding  at  full  gallop,  still  he  had  learned 
his  West  thoroughly.  "  Ulysses  S.  Grant," 
a  biography,  and  "  The  Jimmy  John  Boss  " 
came  in  1900;  and  in  1902  "  The  Virgin- 
ian." An  unpretentious  work,  "  Philos- 
ophy Four,"  has  lately  been  included  by 
the  Macmillans  in  their  Little  Novels 
series. 

One  of  the  most  striking  features  of 
"  The  Virginian  "  is  its  solidity.  There 
are  no  flowers  of  speech ;  there  is  no  fanci- 
ful inflation.  "  It  is  different  from  the 
romantic  creation  of  story-tellers  in  search 
of  material  and  from  the  carefully  elab- 
orated pictures  of  more  self-conscious 
novelists,"  said  Lucy  Munroe,  writing  for 
the  Critic.  "  There  is  something  broad 
and  generous  and  free  about  it.  It  holds 

347 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

the  wide  horizons  and  makes  evident  the 
sweep  of  things  across  a  new  world.  Some- 
thing of  the  freshness  of  the  open  air  is 
in  these  pages : —  hints  of  strange,  far- 
away places  where  art  is  still  undiscovered 
and  life  alone  is  capitalized.  The  rest- 
lessness of  cities,  their  excited  pleasures 
and  harsh  ambitions,  seem  foolish  and  in- 
tangible. The  open  air  gives  a  new  per- 
spective, a  blander  outlook,  a  gayer,  freer, 
saner  view  of  the  relations  of  things.  In 
the  readjustment  everything  is  simplified 
and  the  natural  becomes  the  inevitable. 
The  earth  is  once  again  given  her  due  in 
the  scheme  of  things.  ...  It  is  a  real 
man  that  emerges  out  of  all  this  in  '  The 
Virginian,'  —  a  man  who  has  known  the 
waste  places  of  the  world  and  slashed  his 
own  way  against  hostility.  The  strong 
young  West,  alert  and  watchful  and  com- 
manding, is  in  his  careless  figure.  It  is 
348 


OWEN    WISTEK 


a  part  of  him  as  India  is  a  part  of  Kim. 
.  .  .  The  special  note  is  a  fine  large  hon- 
esty, a  just  and  wholesome  outlook  upon 
men  and  things.  But  with  this  goes  a 
sense  of  humour  which  would  give  colour 
to  the  most  barren  waste,  and  life  to  the 
tamest  character." 

Another  critic  said  that  the  portrait  of 
the  Virginian  "  is  a  little  idealized,  per- 
haps, but  none  the  less  convincing  for 
that  reason,  the  man  is  so  thoroughly  the 
result  of  his  calling  and  his  environment. 
Technically  the  book  is  admirable,  finely 
planned,  superbly  carried  out.  A  series 
of  incidents  in  the  cowboy's  daily  life,  at 
bottom  it  yet  possesses  the  qualities  re- 
quired to  make  a  novel  —  a  well-sustained 
leitmotiv;  and  never,  perhaps,  since  the 
days  of  Bret  Harte,  has  the  characteristic 
Western  humour  found  so  suggestive  and 
appreciative,  so  successful  an  interpreter. 

349 


LITTLE    PILGE IMAGES 

Indeed,  Mr.  Wister  does  for  the  cowboy 
what  Harte  did  for  the  miner/'  and  so 
forth.  In  conclusion,  "  Mr.  Wister  .  .  . 
has  furnished  an  enduring  addition  to  the 
gallery  of  characteristically  American 
types  in  fiction." 

Sentiments  of  a  similar  nature  were 
evoked  by  the  book  in  England.  The  Acad- 
emy, torn  from  its  insular  pedestal,  said: 
"  We  believe  in  the  Virginian,  which  is 
saying  a  good  deal  when  it  is  remembered 
that  he  represents  the  difficult  blend  of 
extraordinary  tenderness  with  an  invinci- 
ble will.  Bret  Harte  had  the  trick  of  that 
kind  of  man.  So  has  Mr.  Wister,  and  his 
treatment  is  hardly  less  delicate." 

There  is  abundant  evidence  in  "  The 
Virginian  "  that  the  author  was  conscious 
of  the  extraordinary  richness  —  of  the 
durable  richness  —  of  his  material.  There 
is  the  size  of  the  book,  in  the  first  place, 
350 


OWEJST    WISTEE 


half  as  long  again  as  the  average  novel; 
and  there  must  be  something  extraordinary 
in  a  book  to  justify  so  large  a  size  now- 
adays. There  is  the  dedication  to  Presi- 
dent Roosevelt,  with  the  significant  lines: 
"  Some  of  these  pages  you  have  seen,  some 
you  have  praised,  one  stands  new-written 
because  you  blamed  it."  There  is  the 
long  time  which  the  author  spent  on  the 
book,  since  separate  chapters  of  it  were 
published  years  before  the  book  appeared 
as  a  whole.  Critical  eyes  will  note  the 
scrupulously  careful  finish  of  the  novel. 

"  The  Virginian "  is  not  perfection ; 
for  it  has  vague  pages;  but,  all  in  all, 
its  diversity  is  agreeable  and  admirable. 
The  chapter  called  "  Em'ly  "  is  the  ripest 
humour ;  while  the  chapters  "  Where 
Fancy  Was  Bred,"  and  "  You're  Going  to 
Love  Me  Before  We  Get  Through,"  de- 
scriptive of  the  Swinton  barbecue,  wherein 

351 


LITTLE    PILGKIMAGES 

our  old  friend,  Lin  McLean,  of  the  days 
of  '97,  and  the  Virginian  mix  up  the 
youngsters,  are  as  funny  as  a  pair  of 
clowns.  Then  there  is  the  grim  story  of 
the  lynching,  and  there  is  the  thrilling 
drama  played  by  the  Virginian  and  his 
enemy  Trampas  on  the  eve  of  the  Vir- 
ginian's marriage.  That  whole  chapter 
dealing  with  this  last  event,  the  chapter  en- 
titled "With  Malice  Aforethought,"  is 
marvellously  absorbing.  The  reader  is 
affected  as  though  by  actual  presence  in 
the  frontier  town ;  as  though  he  heard  the 
generous  fellows  offer  to  take  the  case  of 
Trampas  off  the  Virginian's  hands,  and 
saw  the  cowardly,  curlike  Trampas  insult 
and  defy  the  chivalrous  bridegroom,  and 
overheard  the  Virginian,  resolved  to  meet 
his  enemy  outside  the  town,  say  to  the  pale, 
lone  girl,  "  I  have  no  right  to  kiss  you  any 
more,"  and  at  last  saw  the  two  men  meet 
352 


OWEN    WISTEE 


face  to  face  —  and  thankfully  saw  Tram- 
pas  fall. 

And  from  this  last  scene  the  reader  may 
profitably  revert  to  page  147,  the  first  act 
of  the  subsidiary  drama  in  the  book  called 
"  The  Game  and  the  Nation."  The  page 
starts  off: 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  this :  — 

"  All  America  is  divided  into  two 
classes,  —  the  quality  and  the  equality. 
The  latter  will  always  recognize  the  former 
when  mistaken  for  it.  Both  will  be  with 
us  until  our  women  bear  nothing  but 
kings. 

"  It  was  through  the  Declaration  of  In- 
dependence that  we  Americans  acknowl- 
edged the  eternal  inequality  of  man.  For 
by  it  we  abolished  a  cut-and-dried  aristoc- 
racy. We  had  seen  little  men  artificially 
held  up  in  high  places,  and  great  men 
artificially  held  down  in  low  places,  and 

353 


LITTLE     PILGRIMAGES 

our  own  justice-loving  hearts  abhorred  this 
violence  to  human  nature.  Therefore,  we 
decreed  that  every  man  should  thenceforth 
have  equal  liberty  to  find  his  own  level. 
By  this  very  decree  we  acknowledged  and 
gave  freedom  to  true  aristocracy,  saying, 
'  Let  the  best  man  win,  whoever  he  is.'  Let 
the  best  man  win !  That  is  America's 
word.  That  is  true  democracy.  And  true 
democracy  and  true  aristocracy  are  one 
and  the  same  thing.  If  anybody  cannot 
see  this,  so  much  the  worse  for  his  eye- 
sight." 

So,  at  the  end  of  that  chapter  wherein 
the  Virginian  kills  the  man  who  has  hated 
and  plagued  him  for  years,  we  renew  those 
reflections  on  equality.  "  For  the  Virgin- 
ian had  been  equal  to  the  occasion:  that 
is  the  only  kind  of  equality  which  I  recog- 


nize." 


"  The  Virginian  "  has  deserved  its  rare 
354 


OWEN    WISTER 


success.  It  has  entirely  justified  Mr.  Wis- 
ter's  desertion  of  law  for  literature.  With- 
out it  the  all  too  small  gallery  of  portraits 
of  the  cowboy  would  be  for  ever  incomplete. 
For  those  mad,  passionate,  primeval  days 
pictured  in  the  book  are  gone;  and  with 
them  went  the  living  presentment  of  the 
Virginian.  "  He  rides  in  his  historic  yes- 
terday," Mr.  Wister  says.  "  You  will  no 
more  see  him  gallop  out  of  the  unchanging 
silence  than  you  will  see  Columbus  on  the 
unchanging  sea  come  sailing  from  Palos 
with  his  caravels." 

But  while  the  cowboy  has  gone,  the 
stuff  out  of  which  he  was  made  remains. 
The  sturdy,  daring,  honourable,  old-fash- 
ioned American  youth  "  will  be  here  among 
us  always,  invisible,  waiting  his  chance 
to  live  and  play  as  he  would  like.  His 
wild  kind  has  been  among  us  always,  since 

355 


LITTLE    PILGBIMAGES 

the   beginning:     a   young  man  with   his 
temptations,  a  hero  without  wings." 

We  have  already  made  use  of  Mr.  Wis- 
ter's  saying  that  the  East  is  the  head,  and 
the  West  the  heart  of  the  country.  He 
once  explained  this  to  a  friend,  saying: 
"  One  thing  I  have  noticed  regarding  the 
East  and  the  West.  It  can  be  expressed 
briefly,  although  it  will  require  explana- 
tion afterward.  In  saying  that  the  head 
of  the  country  seems  to  be  the  East,  while 
the  heart  seems  to  be  the  West,  I  may  per- 
haps mean  that  the  West  seems  cruder, 
although  I  never  phrase  it  to  myself  in 
just  that  way,  but  in  travelling  about  there 
one  is  struck  continually  with  the  kindness 
of  everybody,  and  with  their  interest  in 
all  people  who  are  in  trouble.  Their 
knowledge  and  their  good  feeling  also  are 
not  confined  to  their  own  part  of  the 
country  and  what  is  going  on  there, 
356 


OWEN    WISTEE 


whether  it  be  prosperity  or  adversity,  but 
their  interest  extends  to  the  East.  That  is 
to  say,  if  you  go  to  Chicago  or  San  Fran- 
cisco, or  wherever  the  centres  of  popula- 
tion are,  you  will  find  that  most  people 
you  talk  with  are  familiar  with  things  in 
New  York  and  the  East,  and  are  interested 
to  know  what  New  York  and  other  large 
Eastern  cities  are  doing;  while,  on  the 
other  hand,  when  you  return  from  Western 
regions  to  New  York  and  Philadelphia, 
people  in  those  cities  seem  very  much  less 
concerned  with  other  parts  of  the  country, 
and  are  more  concerned  with  their  own 
immediate  surroundings  and  life,  almost, 
I  should  say,  the  least  national,  although 
far  more  civilized." 

Mr.  Wister  spends  much  of  his  time  in 
Philadelphia,  where  he  is  well  known 
among  both  the  quality  and  the  equality, 
to  use  his  own  words.  For  some  years  he 

357 


LITTLE    PILGEIMAGES 

was  secretary  to  the  managers  of  the  ex- 
clusive Assemblies. 

And  are  you  still  curious  regarding  the 
page  of  the  Virginian  which  President 
Roosevelt  blamed?  It  was  the  detailed 
description  of  what  cruel  Balaam  did  to 
the  pony  Pedro.  The  President  said 
that  it  was  too  horrible  —  even  though  it 
more  than  justified  the  fearful  pounding 
which  Balaam  got  from  the  horrified  and 
enraged  hero. 


THE   END. 


358 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 


Om-6,'67(H2523s8)2373 


o-rnnrn  AT  HOI 


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